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Address 

GEORGE  MUNRO,  Munro’s  Publishing  House, 

{P.  O,  Box  STSt.)  17  to  27  Vandewater  BLceet.  New  Yortt 


KING  ARTHU 


^  I 


k 


''  i 


NOT  A  LOVE  STORY. 

.  s  X  3  NV 


k 


By  miss  MULOCK, 


Author  of  “  John  Halifax,  Gentleman.'^ 

^kJC  / 


/^o  y 


NEW  YORK; 


GEORGE  MUNRO,  PUBLISHER, 
17  TO  27  Vandewater  Street. 


MISS  MULOCK^S  WOEKS; 

CONTAINED  IN  THE  SEASIDE  LIBRARY  (POCKET  EDITION); 

NO. 

11  John  Halifax,  Gentleman.  First  half 
11  John  Halifax,  Gentleman.  Second  half 
245  Miss  Tommy,  and  In  a  House-Boat  . 

808  King  Arthur.  Not  a  Love  Story .... 


PRICE. 

20 

.  20 
10 

.  20 


I 


, 


o 


PREFACE. 


This  book  is  founded  on  facts,  which  happened  a  good 
many  years  ago  in  America;  the  adopting  parents  were 
American;  the  child  died  young.  I  have  retold  the  story. 


with  necessary  artistic  variations,  because  it  teaches  truths 


not  always  recognized.  The  world,  voluble  enough  on  the 
duties  of  children  to  parents,  is  strangely  silent  on  the  far 
more  momentous  ones  of  parents  to  children.  This  simple, 
and  in  the  main  point  true  tale,  may  suggest  to  some 
thoughtless  readers  what  the  Heavenly  Father  means  when 
He  sends  to  earthly  fathers  and  mothers  the  blessing,  and 
responsibility  of  a  child. 


677046 


KING  ARTHUR. 


CHAPTER  I. 

r 

Fully  twenty  years  before  the  great  St.  Gothard  Tunnel 
was  made  or  thought  of,  when  Andermatt  was  still  the 
favorite  resting-place  of  travelers  passing  from  Switzerland 
into  Italy,  and  vice  versd,  a  group  of  half  a  dozen  persons 
sat  round  the  table  d^hote  of  the  principal  hotel  there,  eat¬ 
ing  their  rather  meager  dinner.  For  it  was  early  in  June, 
and  the  stream  of  regular  tourists  had  not  yet  begun  to 
flow. 

Not  at  any  season  do  travelers  pause  long  here,  the  val¬ 
ley  of  Uri  being  considered  by  pleasure-seekers  in  general 
a  rather  dull  place.  Perhaps;  and  yet  it  has  its  charms. 
It  is  a  high  level  plateau,  solemn  and  still,  in  the  heart  of 
the  Alps.  Through  it  comes  pouring  down  the  wild  River 
Reuss,  and  up  from  it  climb  three  desolate  mountain  roads, 
leading  to  three  well-known  passes — the  St.  Gothard,  the 
Furca,  and  the  Oberalp. 

The  valley  itself  is  smooth  and  green,  though  too  high 
above  the  level  of  the  sea  to  be  very  fertile.  Little  corn  is 
grown  there,  and  the  trees  are  few  and  small,  but  the  past¬ 
urage  during  the  brief  summer — only  three  months — ^is 
abundant,  and  extending  far  up  the  mountain-sides.  Every 
yard  of  available  land  is  cultivated,  and  the  ground  is 
“  par  seme  ”  (to  use  a  French  word  for  which  there  is  no 
English  equivalent),  with  that  mass  of  wild-flowers  which 
makes  Switzerland  in  June  a  perfect  garden  wherever  you 
turn  your  eyes. 

But  these  and  all  other  beauties  of  the  place  were  invisi- 


8 


KIHG  ARTHUE. 


ble  to  the  travelers,  for  a  dense  white  mist  had  suddenly 
come  down  and  blotted  out  everything. 

To-day  would  have  been  worse  even  than  yesterday  for 
those  young  fellows  to  have  crossed  the  St.  Gothard  from 
Italy,  as  they  told  me  they  did,^^  said  one  of  the  three  quiet 
English-speaking  guests  at  the  head  of  the  table,  looking 
across  at  the  three  voluble  Italians  at  the  foot  of  it. 

Scarcely  more  detestable  weather  than  when  we  crossed, 
doctor.  My  wife  has  taken  all  these  five  days  to  get  over 
it;  and  is  hardly  well  yet.  ” 

Oh,  yes,  dear/^  said  the  lady — the  only  lady  at  table — 
small  and  ordinary  in  ajDpearance,  but  with  a  soft  voice- 
and  sweet  eyes,  which  continually  sought  her  husband  ^s. 
He  was  tall,  thin,  and  serious;  in  fact,  had  taken  the  head 
of  the  table  and  said  grace  in  unmistakable  clerical  fash¬ 
ion.  He  looked  the  very  picture  of  an  English  clergyman, 
and  she  of  a  clergyman's  wife.  One  seemed  about  forty, 
the  other  fifty  years  old. 

The  third  traveler,  addressed  as  Doctor,^'’  was  not 
English,  though  he  spoke  our  language  with  a  far  better 
pronunciation  than  most  of  us  do.  But  he  spoke  it  with  a 
slight  nasal  twang,  said  to  be  inevitable,  in  consequence  of 
climate,  with  our  Transatlantic  cousins.  Also  he  had  a 
gaunt,  lean,  dried-up  appearance;  but  his  long  bony  limbs 
were  agile  and  strong,  and  his  brown  face  was  both  shrewd 
and  kindly;  full  t)f  humor,  yet  at  the  same  time  full  of 
tenderness,  with  no  small  amount  of  capacity  as  well. 

“  My  dear  Mrs.  Trevena,  I  guess  we  had  the  devihs  own 
weather  (begging  your  pardon!)  that  day  we  crossed  from 
Italy.  When  the  snows  begin  to  melt  the  Pass  is  worse  and 
more  dangerous  than  in  the  middle  of  winter.  And  in 
addition,  we  had  that  soaking  rain.  I  am  sure  I  was 
drenched  to  the  skin  for  eight  mortal  hours.  Medically 
speaking,  I  wonder  any  one  of  us,  especially  the  women, 
came  through  the  journey  alive.  But  you  say  youTe  all 
right  now,  ma’am?’' 


KING  AETHUK. 


9 


Oh,  yes/ ^  answered  Mrs.  Trevena,  smiling.  She  seemed 
a  person  so  accustomed  to  be  ‘‘  not  strong/^  that  she  pre¬ 
ferred  to  smile.  at  illness,  and  make  as  light  of  it  as  possi¬ 
ble.  I  only  hope  the  other  two  women — the  only  women 
who  were  in  the  sledges  beside  myself — came  off  as  easily. 
I  suppose  they  went  on  at  once,  for  I  have  not  seen  them 
in  the  hotel  since.  Have  you.  Dr.  Franklin?^^ 

“  Yes,^'’  said  the  doctor.  He  was  not  a  man  of  many 
words. 

Are  they  here  still,  do  you  know?^^ 

‘‘  Yes,^^  he  answered  again,  with  still  greater  abruptness 
and  brevity. 

I  wish  I  had  known  it,  and  I  would  have  inquired  how 
they  were.  I  felt  so  sorry  for  the  lady — she  was  certainly 
a  lady,  though  she  was  shabbily  dressed,  and  so  muffled 
up,  it  was  almost  impossible  to  see  her  face.  The  old 
mulatto  woman,  who  seemed  her  maid,  was  very  anxious 
over  her.  They  had  not  half  wraps  enough — yet  when  I 
offered  her  a  rug  she  refused  it  with  a  mere  shake  of  the 
head.  She  couldnT  be  English,  or,  hearing  me  speak,  she 
would  surely  have  spoken. 

Ho — not  English.^'’ 

‘  ^  What  was  she  then  ?  German  ?  ^  ^ 

American.  My  dear  lady,  you  will  not  find  two 
mouthfuls  on  that  poidet  It  looks  more  like  an  overgrown 
sparrow;  really,  the  food  here  is  abominable.  ” 

Ho  wonder,  said  the  clergyman  mildly.  1  believe 
they  have  to  carry  up  nearly  everything  from  the  valleys 
below — several  thousand  feet.  Hothing  will  grow  here — 
not  even  the  chickens.  What  a  place  Andermatt  must 
be  to  live  at  in  winter 

“Yet  they  do  live  here.  Madame  told  me  to-day — so 
far  as  I  could  understand  her  English — I  wish  I  spoke  bet¬ 
ter  French,  Austin! — that  they  keep  the  hotel  open  all  win¬ 
ter.  Her  elder  children  go  to  school  at  Lucerne,  but  the 
two  little  boys  learn  from  the  pastetir  here.  They  go  to 


.10 


KIKG  ARTHUK. 


him  everyday  in  a  sledge,  drawn  by  Juno,  the  huge  St. 
Bernard  who  is  always  lying  at  the  hotel  door.^^ 

‘‘  Listen  to  her!^^  said  the  grave  clergyman,  turning 
upon  the  little  sweet-faced  woman  an  affectionate  look.  “  I 
do  believe  if  my  wife  were  dropped  down  in  the  wilds  of 
Africa,  within  three  days  she  would  have  made  friends  with 
all  the  blackamoors,  big  and  little-^ — especially  the  little 
ones — have  found  out  all  their  affairs,  and  been  made  the 
confidante  of  all  their  sorrows.’’^ 

In  the  language  of  signs — as  now,^^  laughed  Mrs.  Tre- 
vena. 

‘‘  Never  mind,  ma’am;  you  manage  somehow.  Ma- 
dame’s  poor  little  boy  with  the  broken  leg  and  his  German 
tonne  look  out  for  your  daily  visit  with  great  excitement.  T 
guess  they’ll  miss  you  when  you  go  away.  ” 

“  And  I  shall  miss  Andermatt.  I  like  the  place;  it  is  so 
quiet — so  utterly  out  of  the  world.  And  the  hotel-people 
are  so  simple  and  good;  I  seem  to  know  all  about  every¬ 
body.” 

Do  you,  ma’am?”  said  the  doctor  with  a  sharp  ques¬ 
tioning  look,  which  fell  harmless  on  the  innocent  face;  then, 
apparently  satisfied,  he  added,  How  valuable  your  wife 
must  be  in  your  parish  at  home,  Mr.  Trevena!” 

Invaluable — except  that  it  is  so  small  a  parish.  But 
we  hope  for  a  better  living  by  and  by.  We  have  been  hoping 
all  our  Lives,”  added  he,  with  a  slight  sigh. 

“  But  we  do  sometimes  get  what  we  hope  for,  Austin,” 
said  his  wife.  ‘‘  You  can  not  think.  Dr.  Franklin,  how  he 
has  enjoyed  his  three  months’  chaplaincy  at  the  Italian 
lakes — such  a  lovely  spring!  and  we  are  going  back  to  a 
second  spring — or  rather  summer — in  England.  We  live 
in  the  country — ^in  Cornwall.  ” 

“  A  region  which  very  hkely  Doctor  Franklin  never  heard 
of;  but  we  think  a  great  deal  of  it,  being  both  of  us  Corn¬ 
ish-born,”  said  Mr.  Trevena.  He  was  a  little  slow  in 
speech  and  formal  in  manner — this  old-fashioned  English 


KING  ARTHUR. 


11 


gentleman;  and  the  qnick^  keen,  energetic  American  re¬ 
garded  him  with  the. interest  of  a  student  of  human  nature, 
who  had  discovered  a  new  phase  thereof.  They  were  very 
different;  but  both  being  rarely  honest  and  good  men,  they 
had  fallen  into  a  sort  of  liking;  and  during  the  six  days 
they  had  been  weather-bound  at  Andermatt,  had  become 
tolerably  intimate. 

Their  not  too  luxurious  meal  over,  the  three  English- 
speaking  inmates  of  the  hotel  still  sat  on  at  the  table  dhote; 
comparatively  silent — at  least  when  contrasted  with  the 
voluble  young  Italians  below. 

What  can  they  be  talking  about,  so  fast  and  furious — 
almost  as  if  they  were  going  to  fight?'’'’  said  Mrs.  Trevena, 
somewhat  amused,  while  her  husband  looked  annoyed — as  a 
Briton  often  does  at  anything  foreign  which  he  does  not 
understand.  But  the  more  cosmopolite  American  only 
laughed.  He  had  traveled  through  many  lands  on  both 
sides  the  ocean;  he  spoke  at  least  three  Continental  tongues, 
and  had  been  a  great  help  in  that  and  other  ways  to  the 
English  parson,  who  knew  no  modern  language  but  his 
own. 

“  Why  can  not  people  converse  without  gesticulating  like 
savages  and  looking  as  if  they  were  about  to  tear  one  an¬ 
other  to  pieces,'’'’  observed  he,  in.  some  irritation. 

Not  at  all!’^  laughed  the  Kentuckian.  ‘‘  They  are  the 
best  of  friends.  Two  of  them  belong  to  the  Teatro  at 
Milan,  sent  in  pursuit  of  a  singer  there,  wlio  has  broken 
her  engagement,  and  gone  off,  ifc  is  supposed,  to  London  or 
Paris  in  search  of  a  better  one.  They  donT  think  her  flight 
implies  anything  worse  than  love  of  money;  they  say  the 
signora  had  no  lovers — only  a  husband,  and  perhaps  a  bad 
one.^^ 

‘‘  Poor  lady!^’  said  Mrs.  Trevena.  But  if  she  were  a 
real  lady  she  would  never  be  an  opera-singer.  What  a 
dreadful  life  it  must  be!^'’ 

The  doctor  laughed  in  liis  dry  way — he  was  more  of  a 


12 


SING  ARTHUS. 


laughing  than  a  weeping  philosopher,  and  of  practical 
rather  than  sentimental  mind — then  looked  at  his  watch. 
“  Excuse  me;  I  have  a  visit  to  pay  this  evening. 

Is  it  to  madame^s  little  boy  with  the  broken  leg?  Then 
I  will  go  first,  just  for  a  minute,  and  leave  some  pictures  to 
amuse  him — poor  little  patient  soul!^^ 

That  is  just  like  my  wife,^’  said  Mr.  Trevena,  looking 
after  her  with  a  smile  that  ended  in  a  sigh. 

Mrs.  Trevena  seems  uncommonly  fond  of  children. 
Perhaps  she  has  left  some  behind  her  at  home?  I^m  a 
family-man  myself;  and  after  two  years  in  Europe  I  shahiT 
be  sorry  to  see  those  ten  little  shavers  of  mine  in  Ken¬ 
tucky.^'’ 

Ten,  have  you?  We  have  none.  We  had  one — ^but  it 
only  lived  a  few  hours.  My  wife  has  never  quite  got  over 
the  disappointment;  and  it  was  to  give  her  a  total  change 
for  mind  and  body  that  I  accepted  the  chaplaincy  abroad. 
We  have  only  been  married  three  years,  though  we  waited 
for  fifteen,’’  added  the  good  man  with  the  faintest  shade  of 
a  blush  on  his  calm  middle-aged  face.  “  I  was  a  fellow  of 
my  college,  and  at  last  I  got  a  college  living — rather  a  poor 
one.  But  we  are  very  happy — my  wife  and  I.  We  shall 
at  least  end  our  days  together.” 

Phew!”  said  the  American,  repressing  a  low  whistle, 
while  his  kindly  eyes  took  a  curiously  soft  expression  as  they 
rested  on  his  companion.  He  had  had  a  fairly  happy  life 
himself,  and  his  “  ten  little  shavers  ”  were  obviously  very 
dear  to  him.  “She’s  a  good  woman — your  wife,”  con¬ 
tinued  he  bluntly.  “So  is  mine.  I’d  lay  you  a  dollar 
against  ten  cents,  you’ll  not  find  such  a  mother  anywhere 
as  Mrs.  Franklin.  I  wish  all  women  were  like  our  two, 
sir.” 

“  I  hope  many  women  are,”  answered  the  mild  clergy¬ 
man — adding  anxiously,  “  Do  not  speak  to  Mrs.  Trevena  of 
what  I  told  you — her  lost  child.  It  is  a  sore  place  in  her 
heart  still;  never  likely  to  be  healed.  But  we  have  made 


KING  ARTHUK.  13 

up  our  minds  to  be  content:  and  we  are  content.  God 
knows  best. 

‘‘ 1  suppose  so. 

I  am  sure  so;  and  I  am  a  much  older  man  than  you. 
IsnH  it  strange,^^  continued  the  clergyman,  laying  his  hand 
kindly  on  the  doctor'’ s  arm,  “  that  you  and  I  should  have 
talked  of  this  and  many  other  things — we  who  never  met 
before,  and  in  all  probability  shall  never  meet  again 

‘‘  Perhaps  for  that  very  reason;  I  have  often  found 
it  so.  People  tell  me  things  that  they  wouldn^’t  tell  their 
most  intimate  friends.  You  have  no  idea  the  odd  secrets 
and  odd  people  that  I  have  come  across  during  my  life.  By 
Jove — what  a  bother  it  is  sometimes!  But  I  beg  your  par¬ 
don — I  was  thinking  of  something  else — something  not  too 
agreeable.  And  now  I  must  go  to  my  patient — who  is  not, 
as  your  wife  imagined,  the  little  broken-legged  boy.  How¬ 
ever,  in  our  profession  we  learn  one  good  thing — to  hold 
our  tongues.  Good-night,  sir. 

“  Good -night,  doctor.  YouJl  drive  up  to  Hospenthal 
with  us,  as  my  wife  wishes,  if  it  is  a  fine  day  to-morrow, 
and  your  patient  can  spare  you?” 

‘‘  Oh,  yes — yes.  She — ”  Here  Hr.  Franklin  set  his  lips 
together  and  clinched  his  fist,  as  if  to  beat  himself  for 
nearly  letting  a  cat  jump  out  of  the  bag.  “  Certainly — 
certainly !  Good-evening. ^ 

He  left  the  room  by  one  door  just  as  Mrs.  Trevena  en¬ 
tered  by  another.  Her  husband  greeted  her  with  a  smile 
— the  welcoming  smile  of  those  who  have  been  necessary  to 
one  another  for  years,  who  never  weary  of  each  othePs 
company,  because  it  scarcely  is  company — the  two  having 
so  grown  together  in  all  their  tastes  and  habits  that  they 
feel  like  one.  If  the  little  life  that  had  come,  and  then 

“  Unto  stillness  passed  again 
And  left  a  black,  unknown  before” — 

had  been  a  loss  to  them,  it  had  undoubtedly  but 

“  Made  them  love  the  more.” 


14 


KING  ARTHUK. 


That  is,  if  more  were  possible.  But  the  more  or  the  less 
with  regard  to  love  is  a  question  that  chiefly  troubles 
younger  folh.  The  old  accept  it — only  too  thankfully — 
and  cease  to  investigate  it,  or  to  weigh  and  measure  it,  and 
more  than  their  daily  sunshine  or  the  air  they  breathe. 

The  mist  has  lifted,  Austin,  and  there  is  promise  of  a 
good  sunset — as  much  as  the  mountains  will  let  us  see  of  it; 
and  a  full  moon  will  soon  he  creeping  over  those  white 
peaks  opposite.  Hark! — there  are  the  bells  of  the  cattle 
coming  home.  Are  you  ready  for  a  walk,  dear?^^ 

Quite  ready,  Susannah.'’^ 

“  Shall  we  go  to  the  DeviPs  Bridge — or  up  toward  Hos- 
penthal?  No,  for  we  shall  be  driving  that  way  to-morrow. 
I  should  like  to  get  as  far  up  as  the  Hospice,  and  be  close 
under  the  eternal  snows  once  again — see  them  in  the  sun¬ 
shine  and  calm,  instead  of  such  a  deluge  of  rain  as  the  day 
we  crossed  from  Airolo. 

“  I  wonder  it  did  not  give  you  your  death  of  cold,  my 
poor  wife. 

“  Those  other  two  women — the  old  and  the  young  one — 
were  worse  off  than  I,  for  they  had  nobody  to  take  care  of 
them  — and  she  patted  softly  her  husband  ^s  shoulder. 
“  I  felt  so  sorry  for  them.  I  have  often  thought  of  them 
since. 

You  think  of  everybody,  Susannah — except  yourself. 
Come  along  I  and  as  we  go  you  can  tell  me  what  you  think 
about  one  thing- — our  getting  back  as  fast  as  we  can  to  Eng¬ 
land. 

“  Very  well,  dear.'’^ 

Somehow,  though  she  was  mild-faced,  quiet,  and  small, 
and  he  was  big  and  hale — even  young-looking  for  his  years 
— it  was  evident  the  good  clergyman  leaned  upon  his  wife 
not  a  little.  And  there  was  that  in  Mrs.  Trevena’s  sweet 
composure  which  implied,  not  the  perpetual  acquiescence, 
feeble  and  flaccid,  which  some  men  think  would  be  so  de¬ 
lightful  to  have — until  they  get  it;  but  an  amount  of  dor- 


KING  AKTHUK.  15 

mant  force,  invaluable  in  the  mistress  of  a  household.  She 
is  no  “  perfect  woman  who  is  not  at  the  same  time 

“  Nobly  planned 

To  warn,  to  comfort,  and  command;” 

and  gentle  as  Mrs.  Trevena  looked,  a  keen  observer  could 
detect  in  her  firm  little  mouth  and  quiet,  silent  ways,  indi¬ 
cations  of  strength  and  decision,  which  doubtless  would 
prove  the  greatest  possible  blessing  to  the  Eeverend  Austin. 
Not  that  ‘‘  the  gray  mare  was  the  better  horse!'’'’  for  he 
looked — and  was — the  most  excellent  of  men,  and  clergy¬ 
men;  but  it  was  in  many  things  the  more  useful  horse, 
which  fact  often  makes  a  pair  run  all  the  safer  together. 
Austin  Trevena,  a  student  and  a  book-worm  all  his  days, 
would  have  been  practically  nowhere  '’^  in  the  busy  world, 
but  for  his  wife;  who  loved  him  perhaps  all  the  dearer  for 
his  very  weaknesses.  His  strength — which  lay  in  his  brains, 
and  in  a  moral  nature  of  such  high  chivalric  honor  that  he 
would  have  gone  to  the  stake  without  a  murmur  or  a  doubt 
— she  more  than  loved — she  worshiped.  It  had  cost  her 
some  pangs,  and  a  good  many  long  lonely  years,  but  she 
worshiped  it  still. 

Enough,  however,  of  these  two,  who  had  been  such  a  deep 
interest  to  Dr.  Franklin,  m  his  capacity  of  student  of  hu¬ 
man  nature,  that  he  had  stayed  on  at  Andermatt  chiefly 
because  they  stayed.  Also  for  another  reason  which  with 
the  reticence  due  his  profession  he  did  not  name.  When 
they  met  him  going  out,  and  asked  him  to  accompany  them 
in  their  evening  saunter  to  the  DeviTs  Bridge,  he  shook  his 
head. 

“  I'’ve  got  a  DeviTs  Bridge  of  my  own  to  cross — and  I 
wish  to  Heaven  I  knew  how  to  manage  it,^'’  said  he. 
“  Good-evening — I'’ll  see  you  at  breakfast  to-morrow.'’^ 

And  go  with  us  up  to  the  Hospice?” 

If  1  can.  All  revoir.  ” 

He  looks  anxious  and  troubled  about  something,  ob- 


16 


KING  ARTHUE. 


served  Mrs.  Trevena,  when  the  placid  pair  went  on  their 
way;  stopping  sometimes  to  watch  the  twilight  colors  on 
the  mountains,  and  listen  to  the  tinkle  of  the  cattle-bells, 
as,  one  after  the  other,  whole  herds  of  the  lovely  little  Swiss 
cows  crept  musically  home. 

‘‘  I  suspect,  my  dear,  that  like  another  person  I  know, 
the  good  doctor  often  troubles  himself  with  the  troubles  of 
other  people.  He  told  me  he  had  a  patient  here' — not  your 
little  sick  boy — possibly  some  case  of  serious  illness. 

‘‘  I  never  heard  of  any,  an^  I  think  I  should  have  heard. 
Madame  and  I  have  grown  to  be  wery  good  friends.'’^ 

‘‘  But  madame  is  a  shrewd  woman,  who  probably  knows 
how  to  keep  her  own  counsel,  and  not  drive  away  her  very 
few  customers  by  rumors  of  sickness  or  death  in  the  house. 

“  Death  in  the  house?  You  don’t  think  that,  Austin? 
If  I  could  be  of  any  use^ — ” 

“  You  are  of  most  use  to  me,  Susannah,  by  not  wearing 
yourself  out  over  other  folks;  so  don’t  put  on  that  poor  lit¬ 
tle  anxious  face,  but  let  us  enjoy  our  walk.  We,  thank 
Heaven !  have  nobody  bnt  our  two  selves  to  be  anxious  over.  ’  ’ 
Ho,”  answered  his  wife  softly.  But  whether  she 
thanked  Heaven — Heaven  only  knew.  It  was  one  of  those 
unconscious  stabs  which  even  the  dearest  sometimes  give; 
and  which  Heaven  only  can  heal. 

So  they  strolled  on,  sometimes  talking,  sometimes  silent, 
in  that  happy  companionship — just  “  one  and  one  ” — with¬ 
out  need  of  a  “  shadowy  third,”  which  is  the  solace  of  many 
childless  couples,  and  which,  so  long  as  it  steers  clear  of 
that  fatal  dual  selfishness  which  is  the  bane  of  conjugal  life, 
is  a  most  enviable  and  desirable  thing. 

They  saw  the  sun  set,  the  moon  rise — at  least  by  reflec¬ 
tion,  for  the  actual  sunset  and  moonrise  were  of  course  in¬ 
visible  behind  the  mountains;  and  then  they  watched  the 
stars  come  out  like  jewels  in  the  great  blue  arch  which 
seemed  to  rest  on  the  high  peaks  of  the  St.  Gothard  range, 
white  with  eternal  snow.  When  they  returned,  night  had 


KING  AETHUK.  • 


17 


already  fallen;  a  glimmering  light  up  at  Hospenthal,  and 
another  which  burned  steadily  on  till  morning  in  the  Ander- 
matt  Hotel  below,  alone  testified  to  the  presence  of  any  hu¬ 
man  existence  in  the  silent  valley. 

Next  day,  at  the  table  dHiote  breakfast,  the  English  and 
American  travelers  alone  remained;  the  Italians  had  van¬ 
ished.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Trevena  looked  placid  and  wholesome 
— as  usual — in  mind  and  body;  but  Dr.  Franklin  seemed 
tired  and  worried;  or,  as  he  expressed  it,  ‘‘  seedy as  if  he 
had  been  up  all  night — ;V/hich  he  owned  he  had. 

“  But  why?’^  asked  Mrs.  Trevena,  and  then  drew  back 
and  blushed  for  the-  intrusive  question. 

Work,  my  dear  lady — a  doctor ^s  work  never  ends.  But 
now  I  mean  to  take  a  few  hours^  pla-y*  What  time  shall 
we  start?  We  can  drive  up  as  far  as  the  eternal  snow,  and 
down  again,  before  dark. 

‘‘Easily."" 

“All  right  then.  I"m  your  man.  Off  we  go.  I "11 
halve  the  carriage  with  you."" 

“Certainly  not;  we  shall  be  glad  of  your  company,"" 
said  the  English  clergyman,  with  stately  dignity,  and  de¬ 
spite  his  wtfe"s  rather  pathetic  look — which  convinced  the 
honest,  warm-hearted  American  that  “  halving  the  car¬ 
riage  " "  was  a  matter  of  importance  to  them — Mr.  Trevena 
held  to  his  point,  and  Dr.  Franklin  was  obliged  to  yield. 

They  started.  It  was  one  of  those  gorgeous  days — all 
blueness  and  whiteness,  and  fiooded  with  dazzling,  cloud¬ 
less  sunshine— which  in  Switzerland  come  as  such  a  strange 
contrast  to  the  days  of  mist  and  storm.  The  three  friends, 
so  lately  strangers,  found  themselves  ascending  cheerily  the 
mountain,  past  the  tiny  village  of  Hospenthal  and  the  gla¬ 
cier  of  St.  Anna;  crossing  the  wild  river  Keuss,  which  came 
pouring  down  the  desolate  valley;  and  watcliing  how  the 
vegetation,  at  first  bright  as  the  colors  of  a  kaleidoscope 
with  masses  of  lovely  miknown  fiowers,  gradually  dwindled 
— ceased;  until  the  gray  of  the  huge  bowlders,  the  intense 


18  KING  AETHUE. 

blue  of  the  sky,  and  the  dazzling  Avhiteness  of  the  mount- 
ain  slopes,  were  the  only  colors  left.  The  road  became 
steeper  and  steeper,  and  occasionally  was  fenced  on  either 
side  by  huge  walls  of  unmelted,  and  apparently  never-to- 
be-melted  snow. 

“  You  had  better  put  on  your  blue' veil,  Mrs.  Trevena, 
and  here  is  a  pair  of  blue  spectacles  for  your  husband — 
wouldnT  sacrifice  my  eyes  for  the  grandest  snow-landscape 
in  the  world.  Nor  my  meals;  but  I  see  you  have  provided 
against  mountain-hunger.  Is  that  another  fine,  fat — spar- 
row.'' 

She  laughed,  as  people  do  whose  hearts  are  full,  then 
said,  with  the  tears  in  her  eyes,  “  How  beautiful  all  is!  My 
whole  life  through  I  have  longed  to  come  here,  and  now  I 
am  here — we  are  here  together,  Austin.  We  should  be 
ver}^  thankful. 

I  think  we  are,  Susannah,”  the  clergyman  said,  in  his 
grave,  tender  way.  And  then  the  two  men — so  very  differ¬ 
ent  outside,  and  yet  with  a  certain  sympathetic  union  at 
heart — sat  down  on  either  side  the  little  woman,  on  what 
they  called  a  comfortable  ”  stone,  just  below  the  shining 
wall  of  snow,  forty  feet  high,  which  refiected  the  rays  of 
the  sun  so  as  to  be  oppressively  warm. 

Isn^t  it  curious,  Mrs.  Trevena,  though  we  sit  under  a 
wall  of  snow  we  are  almost  ‘  baked  alive  ^ — as  my  little 
monkeys  in  Kentucky  would  say?”  And  stretching  out  his 
hand,  he  washed  down  the  leg  of  chicken  with  a  mouthful 
of  snow,  declaring  it  was  not  bad  drink  after  all."’^ 

Does  this  huge  white  wall  never  melt?” 

‘‘Never  entirely,  ma^am  ”  (his  invariable  “ma^am^^ 
and  “  sir,”  were  so  anti-English).  “We  are  just  on  the 
verge  of  the  snow-line — perpetual  snow.  And  yet,  just 
look  at  that  patch  of  blue  gentian — isnT  it  lovely?  Are 
you  a  botanist,  Mr.  Trevena?” 

‘  ‘  Oh  no,  but  my  wife  is.  At  least,  she  has  what  I  call  a 
speaking  acquaintance  with  almost  every  fiower  that  grows. 


KIKG  AETHUE.  19 

She  knows  their  separate  faces  as  well  as  those  of  the  babies 
of  our  parish — which  seem  to  me  all  alike/'’ 

“Not  a  bit  alike,  when  you  are  a  woman  and  love 
th^m/^  said  the  wife,  smiling. 

“  You  seem  Very  fond  of  children,  Mrs.  Trevena.^'’ 

“Yes,^"’  she  answered  quietly — so  quietly  that  the  good 
doctor,  feeling  as  if  he  could  have  bitten  bis  tongue  off  for 
the  remark,  rose  and  proposed  a  saunter  a  little  higher  up 
the  mountain. 

“  Decidedly.  And  my  wife  can  rest  here.  She  never 
minds  being  left  alone.  I  tell  her  it  is  because  she  finds 
her  own  company  so  pleasant,  and  no  wonder!'’’  added  he, 
with  affectionate  courtesy. 

“  She’s  a  trump,”  said  the  American — rough,  candid, 
and  kirldly,  as  they  walked  away. 

When  they  were  out  of  sight  and  hearing  of  Mrs.  Tre- 
vena,  he  suddenly  stopped,  and  stuck  his  stick  violently 
into  a  fast  melting  mass  of  snow. 

“It’s  no  use,  sir,  I  can’t  stand  it  any  longer;  I  must  tell 
somebody.” 

“  Tell  what?”  said  the  placid  clergyman,  very  much 
surprised. 

“  Something  which  I  have  been  expecting  your  wife 
would  find  out  every  day,  but  she  has  not  done  so.  Ma¬ 
dame  has  kept  the  secret  well.  I  have  often  wished  1  could 
tell  it  to  Mrs.  Trevena,  who  has  such  capital  common  sense 
and  right  feeling — womanly  feeling.  Some  women  seem  as 
if  they  had  none  at  all;  the  fashionable  life  or  the  public 
life — Lord  knows  wliich,  for  I  don’t! — has  taken  all  ordi¬ 
nary  flesh  and  blood  out  of  them.  It  does  sometimes.” 

Mr.  Trevena  listened  to  this  tirade  with  a  perplexity 
which  his  politeness  vainly  tried  to  hide.  “  If  there  is  any¬ 
thing  you  would  like  to  confide  in  me — anything  wherein  I 
could  be  of  use — according  to  my  sacred  profession.  ” 

“  Mine  has  its  sacredness,  too,  if  people  only  knew  it. 
Many  a  troublesome  secret  have  I  kept;  but  this  one — 


20 


KII^G  AUTHUE. 


can^t  keep  it — I  won^t  keep  it;  for,  in  a  sense,  it^s  like 
conniving  at  a  murder.  The  massacre  of  the  innocents  I 
call  it — and  so  I  told  the  woman. 

‘‘  What  woman  asked  Mr.  Trevena,  now  thoroughly 
aroused  and  uneasy — so  uneasy,  that  he  looked  instinctive¬ 
ly  back  at  the  little  dark  figure  sitting  motionless  imder 
the  snow-wall,  his  wife,  with  whom  he  was  accustomed  to 
halve  all  his  anxieties. 

‘‘  ]N'o — donT  tell  her — not  till  we  get  back  to  the  hotel. 
You  may  then;  for,  after  all,  she  will  understand  it  better 
than  you,  or  than  any  man  among  us  all.’’^ 

And  then  he  detailed  how  his  mysterious  patient,  on 
whose  account  he  had  lingered  these  five  days  at  Ander- 
matt,  was  a  lady — the  lady  with  the  mulatto  servant  who 
had  crossed  the  St.  Gothard  the  same  day  as  themselves, 
and  that  very  night  had  suddenly  given  birth  to  a  child, 
with  no  help  except  the  old  woman,  and  no  preparation  for 
her  infant  except  a  few  clothes  borrowed  from  the  kind 
landlady  of  the  hotel— who,  at  the  m other ^s  urgent  en¬ 
treaty,  had  kept  the  event  a  secret  from  everybody. 

‘‘  But  she  insisted  on  fetching  me,  as  I  spoke  their 
language — both  the  black  and  the  white  woman  are,  I  am 
sorry  to  say,  American  born.  I  told  them  in  good  plain 
English  that  they  were  both  fools — or  Averse — to  have  at¬ 
tempted  such  a  journey.  It  was  a  miracle  that  the  mother 
and  child  survived — the  child  nearly  was  dead — and  when 
I  told  her  it  lived,  her  first  word  was,  that  she  was  ^  very 
sorry A  mother,  indeed — a  brute!  No — any  brute  beast 
would  have  been  more  of  a  mother. 

Perhaps,^  ^  suggested  Mr.  Trevena,  with  a  faint  pld- 
bachelor-like  blush— “  perhaps  she  had  some  very  strong 
reason  for  wishing  it  dead.^^ 

“Illegitimacy,  you  mean,^'’  interrupted  the  point-blank 
doctor.  “  No,  I  believe  not.  She  had  a  wedding-ring  on 
her  finger,  and  in  her  delirium  she  talked  of  '  my  goose  of 
a  husband  and  ‘  my  horrid  httle  brats  at  home.  There- 


KING  ARTHUE. 


21 


fore,  I  conclude  she  has  both  a  home  and  a  husband. 
Though  why  she  should  have  gone  wandering  about  the 
world  in  this  insane  manner  is  more  than  I  can  tell.  Both 
she  and  her  servant  are  absolutely  silent. 

‘‘  About  how  old  is  she:'’^ 

Just  under  forty,  I  should  say.  Very  handsome  still — 
in  a  sort  of  way.  Has  had  four  children,  but  declares  she 
‘  hated  every  one  of  them  the  minute  they  were  born. 
Did  you  ever  hear  of  such  a  woman?'’ ^ 

Mr.  T  re  vena  shook  his  head  helplessly.  “  Well,  my  dear 
doctor,  what  can  I  do?  Would  you  like  me,  in  my  clerical 
capacity,  to  pay  her  a  visit ?^^ 

‘‘ Bless  my  life — no!  She  would  laugh  you  to  scorn — 
she  laughs  at  everything  serious,  except  when  she  gets  into 
her  tragedy-fits,  when  she  rants  for  all  the  world  like  a 
play-actor — or  actress. 

Perhaps  she  is  an  actress. 

‘‘  May  be — I  never  thought  of  that.  But  I  have  not 
thought  much  about  her,  except  as  a  ‘  case,^  till  to-day.  It 
was  hard  work  to  keep  her  alive  at  all — or  the  baby  either 
— for  she  refused  to  suckle  it.  She  said  she  wanted  it  to 
die;  and  if  it  had  not  been  for  a  blessed  old  Hanny-goat  of 
madame^s  she^d  have  had  her  wish  by  this  time.  How  I 
think  heTl  do,  for  he  is  quite  healthy;  and  such  a  fine,  fat 
little  fellow.  Many  a  one  of  your  childless  English  dukes — 
your  ^  noble  families  •’  that  dwindle  down  to  nothing  and 
die  out — would  give  his  eyes  for  such  a  son  and  heir.^^ 

“A  strange  story, said  Mr.  Trevena  thoughtfully. 
“  May  I  tell  my  wife?  She  would  be  so  much  interested.,^^ 
‘‘Yes,  and  ask  her  to  advise  me:  a  woman — that  is,  a 
sensible  woman — often  leaps  by  instinct  to  the  right,  when 
a  man  with  his  long-headed  wisdom  goes  swithering  to  and 
fro,  till  he  finds  himself  quite  at  sea — as  I  own  I  am.  That 
horrible  creature  I  What  do  you  think  she  asked  of  me  last 
night?  To  take  away  her  child  and  leave  it  at  the  nearest 
foundling  hospital — or  by  the  road-side  if  I  chose,  for  some 


22 


KIKG  ARTHUR. 


charitable  soul  to  pick  it  up!  She  doesn^t  care  what  be¬ 
comes  of  it,  so  that  she  gets  rid  of  it.  She  would  sell  it, 
she  declares,  for  she  wants  money  badly — only  a  baby  is  a 
drug  in  the  market — a  commodity  no  one  cares  to  buyl^-’ 
What  a  wretch! — oh,  dear,  oh,  dear!^^  murmured  the 
horrified  and  perplexed  clergyman.  “  Surely  she  must  be 
mad.^^ 

‘‘Not  at  all;  she  is  as  sane  as  I  am,  a  capable,  clever, 
healthy  woman.  She  must  have  a  constitution  of  iron  to 
have  struggled  through  these  few  days;  and  she  is  doing 
very  well  now.  She  talks  of  continuing  her  journey  im¬ 
mediately. 

“  Where  to?  Has  she  no  friends?^^ 

“  None,  she  declares,  except  her  ‘  fool  of  a  husband,^ 
whom  she  left  six  months  ago,  and  has  scarcely  heard  of 
since.  She  refuses  to  give  her  name  or  address.  So — what 
can  I  do?  She  is  my  country-woman,  and  after  all,  a 
woman — or  I  would  do  nothing  at  all.  She  expects  me  to 
give  her  an  answer  to-night. 

“  About  what?^^ 

“  About  the  foundling  hospital.  There  are  such  in  Swit¬ 
zerland,  I  know;  but  I  canT  present  myself  there  with  an 
unknown  new-born  baby  in  my  arms — a  decent  father  of  a 
family  like  me.  And  if  I  leave  the  child  with  its  mother, 
very  likely  she’ll  murder  it,  or  neglect  it  till  it  dies — which 
IS  as  bad  as  murder.” 

“  But  there  is  the  mulatto  woman;  she  may  have  a  heart 
in  her  bosom  if  the  mother  has  none.” 

“  My  dear  sir,  had  you  lived  as  long  as  I  have  in  our 
Southern'  States,  you  would  know  that  our  niggers  have  big 
hearts,  but  mighty  little  heads,  and  no  consciences  to  speak 
of.  If  that  woman  told  her  servant,  who  is  a  paid  slav^e, 
to  lie  down  and  be  walked  upon,  she’d  do  it;  and  if  she 
bade  her  throw  the  child  on  the  back  of  the  fire,  she’ll  do 
it  also.  I’m  only  too  glad  she  hasn’t  done  it  already,  when 


KII^G  ARTHUK.  23 

it  began  to  cry — ^it  has  cried  incessantly  ever  since  it  was 
bom — and  no  wonder/-’ 

“Poor  little  soul!^’  said  Mr.  Trevena,  roused  into  un¬ 
wonted  interest.  He  had  lived  so  long  the  hfe  of  a  bachelor 
and  a  book- worm  that  he  rarely  troubled  himself  much  about 
external  things — human  things — but  left  all  that  to  his 
wife.  “  I  think  we  had  better  tell  Mrs.  Trevena;  she  will 
be  sure  to  know  what  you  ought  to  do. 

“Yes — ^but  not  yet.  Don’t  spoil  her  pleasure.  Look! 
I  am  -sure  she  is  enjoying  herself. 

“  My  wife  has  the  faculty  of  enjoying  everything.-” 

And  indeed  it  seemed  so,  though  just  now  her  enjoyment 
was  no  wonder.  Pew  could  have  seen  unmoved  those  great 
fields  of  snow,  rising  upward  into  gigantic  peaks,  white  as 
no  fuller  on  earth  could  whiten  them — like  the  robes  of 
the  righteous  described  in  Eevelations.  The  whole  scene, 
in  its  silence,  grandeur,  and  dazzling  brightness,  was  liker 
heaven  than  earth.  One’s  petty  mortal  life,  with  its  trivial 
cares  and  foolish  joys,  sunk,  dwarfed  into  nothingness,  be¬ 
fore  the  majesty  of  those  everlasting  hills,  covered  with 
perpetual  snow.  It  was  the  nearest  image  we  can  imagine, 
in  this  poor  changing  earth,  of  that  Eternity  from  whence 
we  came  and  into  which  we  go. 

She  sat  gazing  with  an  expression  full  of  peace,  though 
the  traces  of  tears  were  on  her  cheeks — so  rapt,  that  she 
never  noticed  the  approach  of  the  two  men. 

“  Look  at  her,”  said  the  American,  with  honest  admira¬ 
tion  written  on  his  shrewd  brown  face.  “  By  George!  how 
pretty  she  must  have  been  when  she  was  young.” 

“She  is  pretty  now — at  least  to  me,”  replied  the  En¬ 
glishman  with  dignity.  “  My  dear  Susannah,  are  you 
rested?  Is  it  not  time  we  were  going  home?” 

“  ^  Going  to  hum,’  as  we  say — or  as  you  English  say  that 
we  say — often  a  very  different  thing,  ”  observed  Dr.  Frank¬ 
lin,  trying  hard  to  recover  his  equanimity  and  good  humor. 

“  Which  means  going  to  our  hotel;  not  a  bad  substitute 


24 


KING  ARTHUR. 


for  home.  Madame  is  very  kind.  But  oh!  Austin,  I  shall 
be  glad  to  be  once  again  really  ^  at  home!^  We  must  try 
to  move  on  to-morrow.  So  adieu — forever,  most  likely — 
you  beautiful  San  Gottardo!"’"’ 

Smiling  she  rose,  collected  the  fragments  of  lunch, 
“  They  will  do  for  these  little  lads  who  were  selling  edel¬ 
weiss  and  alpenrosen  beyond  Hospenthal,  and  joined  her 
companions  in  the  carriage. 

Both  Mr.  Trevena  and  Dr.  Franklin  were  very  silent  on 
the  homeward  road;  but  Mrs.  Trevena  talked  and  smiled 
rather  more  than  usual  to  make  up  for  it.  And  they  ac¬ 
quiesced  in,  or  at  any  rate  did  not  oppose,  her  plan  of  going 
down  the  next  day  to  Fluelen,  and  thence  on  to  Lucerne. 

So  this  will  be  our  last  night  in  the  TJrseren  Thai;  for, 
if  you  go  back  to  America  as  you  intend,  doctor,  we  arfi 
none  of  us  ever  likely  to  be  at  Andermatt  again.'’-’ 

“  I  earnestly  hope  I  never  may  be!"’^  said  Dr.  Franklin, 
as  reaching  the  hotel  he  looked  at  his  watch.  ‘^Half  an 
hour  past  my  time.  Well,  it  doesn’t  matter — only — what 
a  hullabaloo  she’ll  make.  You’ll  remember,  sir?  And 
I’ll  see  you  again  at  the  ^adle  d’hote — after  you  have  told 
your  wife.” 

“  Told  me  what?” 

‘‘  You  needn’t  be  alarmed,  ma’am.  Take  a  quiet  even¬ 
ing  walk — lucky  comfortable  couple  that  you  are! — and 
your  husband  will  explain  it.  Bless  us — what  a  sunset ! — 
Why  did  Heaven  make  the  outside  world  so  beautiful,  and 
the  people  in  it  so —  'But  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mrs.  Trevena 
• — not  all  people — not  all.” 

He  took  off  his  hat  to  her  with  rough  respect,  and  disap¬ 
peared  toward  a  small  dependence  only  used  when  the  hotel 
was  full,  on  the  other  side  of  the  road. 

Up  that  road,  shortly  afterward,  the  English  couple 
might  have  been  seen  strolling,  arm-in-arm,  sometimes 
even  hand-in-hand,  for  those  long-divided  years  had  made 
them  almost  child-like  in  their  wedded  hajDpiness  now. 


KING  ARTHUR. 


They  cast  a  glance  at  the  dependence  as  they  passed,  but 
nothing  was  visible :  so  they  slowly  disappeared  along  the 
level  road  towards  that  wonderful  Devil’s  Bridge — ^the  chief 
sight  of  Andermatt;  whence  they  did  not  return  till  the 
table  dlwte  dinner  had  already  begun. 

It  was  a  long  walk — ;and  a  momentous  one — perhaps  the 
most  momentous  they  had  ever  taken  in  all  their  placid 
lives.  When  he  met  them  at  the  dinner-table.  Dr.  Frank¬ 
lin  was  quite  sure  Mr.  Trevena  had  told  his  wife  ever3rthmg. 
She  was  very  silent — even  for  her;  she  eat  little;  and  be¬ 
tween  the  many  courses  by  which  the  Swiss  hotels  so  cleverly 
contrive  to  make  a  palatable  something  out  of  almost  noth¬ 
ing,  she  fell  into  long  reveries.  Still,  there  was  a  new 
brightness — a  pleasure  amounting  to  rapture — in  her  eyes, 
which  made  her  look  quite  young,  and  fairly  startled  the 
good  doctor. 

Dinner  over,  she  drew  liim  aside.  My  husband  has 
given  me  your  message.  I  hardly  know  what  to  advise. 
But  first,  may  I  go  and  see  that  poor  woman:” 

‘‘  ‘  Poor’  woman,  indeed!  and  you  want  to  go  and  see 
her?  I  knew  it! — just  like  you.  But,  my  dear  madame, 
you  can’t.  She  is  madder — or  badder — ^than  ever.  All 
her  talk  is  how  to  get  rid  of  the  child.  My  impression  is  if 
you  went  to  see  her  she  would  shut  the  door  in  your  face.  ” 

“  Try,  nevertheless.  I  might  do  something — say  some¬ 
thing.  We  are  both  women,  and” — with  a  quiver  of  the 
lips — mothers — at  least  I  have  been  a  mother.  Perhaps, 
poor  thing!  her  head  is  a  little  wrong.” 

“  Not  a  bit  of  it,  unless  we  adopt  the  theory  which  some 
of  my  profession  have  started,  that  all  badness  is  madness. 
A  very  comfortable  doctrine,  and  then  nobody  need  be 
pimished  for  anything.  But,  ma’am,  if  there  is  a  thing 
true  in  this  world  it  is  that  text,  ‘  Be  sure  your  sin  will  find 
you  out.’  As  I  told  her  only  to-night,  you  can’t  go  against 
nature,  but  nature  will  have  her  revenge  some  day.  How¬ 
ever,  that’s  no  alfair  of  mine.  ” 


26 


king  arthue. 


Perhaps  not,  yet  let  us  try.  Go  and  ask  her  if  she  will 
see  me.'’^ 

Very  well,  ma^am. 

During  his  absence,  Mrs.  Trevena  sat  alone — at  least 
practically  so,  for  her  husband,  according  to  old  habit,  had 
taken  a  book  out  of  his  pocket  and  become  absorbed  there¬ 
in.  Susannah,  who  did  not  read  very  much,  was  content 
to  watch  the  great  white  mountains  melting  away  in  the 
twilight;  and  think — and  tliink. 

‘‘IPs  no  use!'’^  said  Dr.  Franklin,  returning.  “I  be¬ 
lieve  she  is  mad — quite  mad.  She  will  see  nobody.  She 
says  the  best  kindness  anybody  could  show  her  would  be  to 
take  away  the  child;  that  children  have  been  her  bane  and 
nuisance  all  her  life, .and  she  wants  no  more  of  them. 
When  I  suggested  that  He  who  sent  them  .might  require 
them  at  her  hand,  she  laughed  in  my  face.  I  think  she 
believes  in  neither  God  nor  devil. 

“  Poor  soul!  Could  you  not  find  out  her  friends?*^ 

“  I  wish  I  could,  but  I  have  not  the  slightest  clew.  I 
can  get  nothing  out  of  her,  or  her  servant  either — except 
that  she  has  been  living  for  six  months  in  Italy. 

Mrs.  Trevena  thought  a  minute.  “  Do  you  think  it 
possible  she  may  be  the  Italian  prima-donna  who  ran  away 
from  Milan?  To  an  actress  or  singer  children  might  be  a 
hinderance— if  she  had  no  motherly  heart.  ^  ^ 

“  Yes — yes,^^  said  the  doctor,  meditating.  “  You  women 
are  twice  as  sharp  as  we.  But  she  is  American.  Still,  she 
may  have  passed  under  an  Italian  name.  She  declares  no 
power  on  earth  shall  make  her  confess  her  own.^^ 

“  Poor  soul!^^  said  Susannah  again.  “  She  has  husband, 
children,  home — and  she  hates  and  flies  from  them  all. 
How  much  she  is  to  be  pitied 

“  Pitied  cried  the  doctor  almost  angrily.  “  Mrs. 
Trevena,  I  thiiik  you  would  speak  a  good  word  for  the  devil 
himself!  And  truly,  if  there  ever  was  a  she-devil,  it^s  that 
woman!  I  wonder  what  Mrs.  Franklin  would  say  to  her! 


KING  AKTHUK. 


27 


But  I  know  what  sheM  do — she^d  take  home  the  little  one, 
and  I  should  have  eleven  young  shavers  to  bring  up  instead 
of  ten.  She^d  make  me  adopt  it— as  we  can  and  often  do 
in  America."’^ 

Mrs.  Trevena  did  not  answer  at  first — then  she  said 
gently,  ‘‘  Since  I  can  not  see  the  mother,  do  you  think  you 
could  manage  for  me  to  see  the  baby?^^ 

This  was  not  quite  easy,  for  madame,  with  a  creditable 
dread  of  scandal  in  her  hotel,  had  managed  so  cleverly  that 
no  one  but  herself  and  the  American  doctor  even  knew  of 
the  existence  of  the  hapless,  unwelcome  babe.  And  only 
after  nightfall,  when  the  inmates  had  all  retired,  would  she 
consent  tha^t  it  should  be  brought  for  a  minute  or  two  to 
the  door  of  the  dependance,  wrapped  in  a  shawl,  and 
carried  in  Dr.  Franklin’’ s  arms. 

Mrs.  Trevena  took  it  softly  in  hers,  and  pressed  to  her 
bosom  the  tiny  red,  puckered  face. 

“  It  is  a  boy,  you  say?  Mine  was  a  boy  too.  He  lived 
just  six  hours.  It  was  only  a  murmur,  but  the  kind- 
hearted  Kentuckian  heard  it — and  understood. 

If’s  a  fine  child,  ma^am;  healthy  and  strong.  Ko — it 
wonT  wake.  Its  mother  has  given  it  some  sleeping  stuff 
— she  will  do  this,  though- 1  tell  her  she  might  as  well  give 
it  poison.  She’ll  kill  it  some  day,  if  it  isn’t  taken  away 
from  her.  She  says,  new-born  brats  don’t  matter — they’re 
only  half  alive.  You  might  drown  them  like  kittens — and 
no  harm  done.” 

Mrs.  Trevena  did  not  answer — perhaps  scarcely  heard. 
Evidently  her  heart  was  full.  She  pressed  her  cheek,  her 
lips,  with  more  than  tenderness — passion — to  the  little 
sleeping  face. 

“  If  mine  had  only  lived!  I  had  him  but  six  hours,  and 
yet — I  can  never  forget  him.  ”  And  then  either  her  tears, 
now  fast  falling,  or  the  unsteady  hold  of  her  trembling 
hands,  woke  the  child;  who  gave  a  little  cry — that  helpless 
infant  wail,  to  some  women  so  irritating,  to  others  the  un- 


2S 


KING  ARTHUR. 


failing  key  which  unlocks  every  corner  of  the  true  motherly 
heart. 

I  must  take  it  back,^^  said  Dr.  Franklin. 

Oh  no — ^no — let  me  have  it  for  just  five  minutes  more — 
for  the  night  perhaps — Ifil  take  care  of  it.  Any  woman  of 
common  sense  can  manage  a  baby.  Let  me  have  it, 
doctor. 

I  canH,^^  replied  the  doctor  gravely.  ^^Ma^am,  you 
forget.  What  would  Mr.  Trevena  say?^^ 

Mrs.  Trevena  resisted  no  more.  She  resigned  the  child, 
and  then  stood  with  her  empty  hands  tightly  folded,  and 
her  eyes,  tearless  now,  fixed  on  the  stars;  which  treading 
their  silent  courses  seemed  so  far  away  from  human  crav¬ 
ings  and  human  woes.  Perhaps  she  saw  them — perhaps 
not,  but  there  was  a  light  in  her  eyes  as  bright  as  stars. 

She  said  not  a  word  but  “  good-night  and  thank  you 
to  Dr.  Franklin,  when,  having  taken  her  across  the  road  to 
the  hotel  he  left  her  at  her  own  room  door;  with  a  hearty 
grip  of  the  hand — ^f or  he,  too,  honest  man !  had  been  not 
unmoved. 

Poor  little  brat!  I  wonder  what  will  be  the  end  of  it. 
Well!  I  guess  the  Lord'  sometimes  makes  things  mighty 
unlevel  in  this  World  of  ours.  Perhaps  He  does  it  that  we 
may  try  to  put  them  straight  ourselves.  We  often  can — if 
we  see  our  way.  Whew!  I  wish  the  Lord  would  help  me 
to  see  mine.^^ 

And  the  good  fellow — who  had  a  habit  of  referring  to 
“  the  Lord  pretty  frequently,  not  with  any  irreverence, 
but  in  a  fashion  rather  startling  to  British  ears — went  off 
to  his  bed,  whistling,  and  slept  the  sleep  of  the  contented 
and  the  just. 

So  did  Mr.  Trevena — in  fact  his  wife  found  him  asleep 
when  she  came  in,  and  did  not  waken  him.  But  she  her¬ 
self  lay  awake  till  dawn. 


KmG  AETHUR. 


CHAPTER  IL 

Hext  morning  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Trevena  sat  OTer  their  early 
cafe,  by  their  bedroom  fire,  welcome  even  in  June  at 
Andermatt — a  comfortable  couple,  placid  and  loving;  for, 
before  returning  to  his  book,  he  stooped  and  kissed  her 
affectionately. 

‘^Youfil  be  busy  over  y^ur  packing,  my  dear,  for  we 
really  will  start  to-morrow,  if  I  get  the  letters  and  some 
money  to-day.  Doctor  Frankhn  will  share  our  carriage  to 
Fluelen;  he  can  surely  leave  his  patient  now.  By  the  bye, 
did  you  see  the  baby  last  night 

Yes;'’^  and  coming  closer  she  laid  her  hand  on  her  hus- 
band-’s  arm,  and  her  head  on  his  shoulder.  “  Can  you 
give  me  a  few  minutes,  Austin,  my  dear?^^ 

A  hundred  if  you  like,  my  darling.  Is  it  to  speak 
about  the  journey?  Well,  we  shall  soon  be  safe  at  home, 
and  oh!  how  glad  we  shall  be. 

Very  glad.  But — it  is  an  empty  home  to  come  back 

to."" 

“  How  do  you  mean? — Oh  yes — see.  My  poor  Susan¬ 
nah!  You  should  not  have  gone  and  looked  at  that  baby."" 

He  spoke  very  tenderly — more  so  than  might  have  been 
expected  from  his  usually  formal  and  absent  manner.  She 
gave  one  little  sob,  then  choked  it  down,  put  her  arms 
rofind  his  neck  and  kissed  him  several  times.  An  outsider 
might  have  smiled  at  the  caresses  of  these  two  elderly  peo¬ 
ple;  but  love  never  grows  old,  and  they  had  loved  one 
another  all  their  Lives. 

‘‘  Don"t  mind  my  crying,  Austin.  Indeed,  I  am  happy, 
quite  happy.  Yesterday,  when  I  sat  under  the  wall  of 
snow,  and  looked  at  the  beautiful  sights  all  round  me,  I 
thought  how  thankful  I  ought  to  be — how  contented  with 
my  lot — how  blessed  in  my  home  and  my  husband.  And 


30 


KIKG  ABTHUE. 


I  ceased  to  be  angry  with  God  for  having  taken  away  my 
baby. 

‘‘  Poor  Susannah — poor  Susannah 

‘‘No,  rich  Susannah!  And  so,  I  determined  to  grieve 
no  more — to  try  and  be  happy  without  a  child.  But 
now — 

“  Well,  my  darling 

“  Austin,  I  think  God  sometimes  teaches  us  to  renounce 
a  thing,  and  when  we  have  quite  renounced  it,  gives  it  back 
to  us,  in  some  other  way. 

“  What  do  you  mean?^^ 

She  tried  to  speak — failed  more  than  once — and  then 
said,  softly  and  solemnly,  “  I  believe  God  has  sent  that 
child,  whom  its  mother  does  not  care  for,  to  me — to  us. 
Will  you  let  me  have  it?^'’ 

Intense  astonishment  and  bewilderment  was  written  on 
every  line  of  Mr.  Trevena^’s  grave  countenance. 

“  God  bless  my  soul!  Susannah,  what  can  you  be  think¬ 
ing  of?^^ 

“  I  have  been  thinking  of  this  and  nothing  else,  ever  since 
you  told  me  what  Doctor  Franklin  told  you.  From  that 
minute  I  felt  the  child  was  meant  for  me.  Its  mother 
throws  it  away;  she  does  not  care  a  straw  for  it — whilst  I 
— oh  Austin — you  don^t  know — you  don^t  know!"’' 

She  pressed  her  hands  upon  her  childless  breast,  as  if  to 
smother  down  something  that  was  almost  agony. 

“  No,  my  dear,^^  Mr.  Trevena  answered  dryly;  “  I  can^t 
be  expected  to  know.  And  if  you  were  not  such  a  very 
sensible  woman  I  should  say  that  you  don’t  know  either. 
How  can  respectable  old  folk  like  us  encumber  ourselves 
with  a  baby — a  waif  and  a  stray — a  poor  little  creature 
that  we  know  nothing  on  earth  about?” 

“  But  God  does,”  she  answered  solemnly.  “  Listen, 
Austin.  When  I  was  a  very  little  girl  I  picked  up  a  bit  of 
sweet-william — trodden  under  foot  and  nearly  dead.  My 
playfellows  laughed  at  me,  and  said  it  would  never  grow; 


KIKG  ARTHUR. 


31 


but  I  planted  it  and  it  did  grow — it  grew  into  the  finest 
root  in  my  garden.  An  omen,  I  think;  for  I  have  done 
the  same  thing  several  times  afterward  in  the  course  of  my 
life,  and — my  sweet-williams  always  grew!  Let  me  try  one 
more. 

My  dear,  you  would  coax  a  bird  off  a  bush.  But  what 
on  earth  do  you  want  to  do?  To  buy  a  baby?  The  woman 
will  not  give  it — she  wished  to  sell  it,  you  know.  Twenty 
pounds  is  her  price.  I  really  havenT  that  much  about 

‘‘  DonT  jest,  dear.  And  when  he  saw  the  expression 
on  his  wif e^s  face,  Mr.  Trevena  felt  it  was  no  jesting  matter. 
He  had  ever  been  a  man  of  one  idea,  or  rather  of  two  ideas 
— his  books  and  his  Susannah;  every  corner  of  his  heart  was 
filled  up  by  either  the  one  or  the  other.  Perhaps  he  had 
felt  a  natural  pang  when  his  hope  of  fatherhood  was 
quenched,  but  the  regret  soon  died  out,  and  his  life  became 
complete  as  before.  Love  of  offspring  is  with  men  more  a 
pride  than  an  affection;  at  least  till  the  children  are  intelli¬ 
gent  human  beings.  The  passionate  craving  which  made 
the  Hebrew  mother  cry,  Give  me  children  or  else  I  die,^^ 
is  to  them  absolutely  unknown.  Hor,  as  a  rule,  does  a  man 
take  much  interest  in  any  children  not  his  own.  But  with 
a  woman  it  is  different. 

Susannah  sat  down,  for  she  was  trembhng  too  much  to 
stand.  Austin  saw  it,  and  his  heart  melted. 

‘‘  Come,  don^t  fret,  my  love,  and  we  will  consider  the 
matter.  But — think  of  the  trouble  a  baby  would  be. 

“  I  will  take  it  upon  myself.  I  know  I  can.^^ 

‘‘  Then,  again,  our  income  is  so  small — too  small  to  bring 
up  and  provide  for  a  child. 

We  should  have  had  to  do  it  for  our  own,  had  he 
lived. 

‘‘  Then — there  is  my  brother  Hal. 

Mrs.  Trevena  ^s  sweet  face  hardened  a  little — it  could  not 
but  harden.  This  scamp  of  an  elder  brother  had  been  to 


32 


KIKG  ARTHUR. 


the  younger  one  a  torment^  a  disgrace,  ever  since  their  col¬ 
lege  days;  also  a  ceaseless  drain,  hindering  his  prospects 
and  delaying  his  marriage.  Family  pride — it  scarcely  could 
be  called  family  affection — had  prevented  the  good  clergy¬ 
man  from  throwing  olf  this  horrible  incubus,  until  ho  got  a 
living  and  married  his  Susannah,  ^vhose  strength  had  in 
some  degree  counteracted  his  weakness,  taught  him  to  say 
No,  and  proved  to  him  that  to  sustain  a  bad  man  in  his 
badness,  even  though  he  be  your  own  flesh  and  blood,  is  not 
a  virtue,  but  a  weakness. 

T  thought  we  had  done  with  Hal  when  you  paid  his 
passage  out  to  Australia. 

Ay,  but  he  may  come  back  again — ^he  often  does,^'’  said 
the  husband,  with  a  weary  look.  ‘‘  He  has  turned  up,  you 
know,  from  all  the  ends  of  the  earth,  to  worry  me  as  much 
as  ever. 

“  But  that  was  when  you  had  not  me  beside  you. 
Now— 

I  know — I  know.  Would  that  I  had  had  you  beside 
me  years  ago!^^ 

As  perhaps,  but  for  Hal,  and  a  certain  weakness,  not  sel¬ 
dom  combined  with  an  affectionate  nature,  he  might  have 
had.  But  his  wife  said  nothing — except  to  notice  that  Dr.,,, 
Franklin  was  walking  outside. 

Shall  we  call  him  in  and  speak  to  him?^^ 

About  the  baby?  Have  you  set  your  heart  upon  it, 
Susannah?  Am  I  not  enough  for  you?  Would  you  be  like 
Hannah,  the  wife  of  Elkanah?^'’ 

Hannah  prayed,  and  God  sent  her  her  little  Samuel. 
Who  knows  but  that  He  may  in  His  own  mysterious  way 
have  sent  me  mine?^^ 

She  spoke  in  a  whisper — solemn  and  tender.  Her  voice 
was  so  entreating,  her  expression  so  rapt — as  if  she  saw 
further  than  any  but  herself  could  see — that  the  good  kind 
husband  resisted  no  more.  Though  he  did  not  always  un¬ 
derstand  her,  he  had  an  instinct  that  whatever  his  Susannaii 


KII?'G  ARTHUR. 


did  was  sure  to  be  right.  It  was  always  difficult  to  him  to 
say  No  to  anybody^  but  to  say  No  to  her  was  quite  beyond 
his  power. 

“  Well — well,  we  will  at  least  consider  the  matter.  Let 
us  do  as  you  say — call  in  Dr.  Franklin  and  talk  it  over. 

The  talk  lasted  a  long  time,  without  eliciting  any  new 
facts  or  coming  to  any  satisfactory  conclusion.  Dr.  Frank¬ 
lin  was  less  surprised  at  Mrs.  Trevena'^s  quixotic  idea,  as 
her  husband  called  it,  than  an  Englishman  would  have 
been;  he  said  the  adoption  of  children  was  a  not  uncommon 
thing  in  America. 

Indeed,  I  have  often  advised  it  as  an  absolute  duty  to 
rich  and  childless  people,  who  wished  to  make  themselves 
happy  with  young  life  about  them,  and  avoid  a  selfish,  use¬ 
less  old  age.  A  child  in  the  house  helps  to  educate  every¬ 
body  in  it.  Not  that  Mrs.  Trevena  needs  much  education, 
added  he,  with  blunt  courtesy,  but  it  would  make  her 
happy  and  do  her  good;  and,  as  the  Bible  says,  she  would 
‘  save  a  soul  alive.  ^ 

What!  save  a  child  by  taking  it  from  its  parents?  That 
is  not  according  to  the  Bible,^^  answered  the  perplexed 
clergyman. 

“  I  am  sorry  to  say,  sir,  that  there  are  lots  of  children  in 
this  world  who  can  only  be  saved  by  taking  them  from  their 
parents.  This  poor  little  wretch  is  one.  He  is  a  fine, 
healthy,  perfect  child — splendid  physiological  and  phreno¬ 
logical  developments — might  make  a  grand  fellow,  if  any¬ 
body  could  protect  him  from  the  woman  that  bore  him, 
who  doesnT  deserve  the  blessing  of  a  child.  Your  wife 
does.  I  think  with  her — that  the  Lord  sent  it  to  her."’"' 

Mrs.  Trevena  lifted  up  to  him  grateful  eyes,  but  said 
nothing. 

It  seems  so  ridiculous,  and  yet  so  horrible — the  idea  of 
buying  a  child, said  Mr.  Trevena.  ‘‘  Besides,  we  should 
have  all  the  responsibility  of  it,  and  no  legal  rights  what¬ 
ever. 


8 


u 


KING  ARTHTJK. 


“There  we  have  the  advantage  of  you/’  The  Ken¬ 
tuckian  drew  himself  up  to  his  full  long  length,  and  spoke 
• — more  nasally  than  ever,  it  must  be  owned — but  with  an 
honest  warmth  that  neutralized  all  national  peculiarities. 
“  In  my  country,  where  every  man  stands  on  his  own  feet, 
where  we  have  neither  the  curse  of  primogeniture  nor  the 
burden  of  hereditary  rank,  any  respectable  person,  or  any 
married  couple,  agreeing  together,  can  legally  adopt  a 
child.  ” 

Mrs.  Trevena  looked  up  eagerly.  “  How?” 

“  By  presenting  a  petition  to  one  of  our  courts  of  law, 
and  after  due  examination  of  the  parents,  if  alive  and  de¬ 
serving,  and  of  the  child,  if  old  enough,  obtaining  a  decree 
of  adoption,  which  is  called  ‘  the  muniment  of  title.  ’  This 
makes  it  the  adopting  parents’  lawful  heir,  and  the  real 
parents  have  no  more  right  over  it,  which  is,  in  some  cases, 
a  great  blessing.  It  was  in  two,  I  know  of — one  an  orphan, 
the  other  worse.  Both  children  were  adopted — and  both 
saved — as  I  only  wish  somebody  would  save  this  poor  little 
soul.  It’s  a  great  mystery,  Mrs.  Trevena,  but  sometimes 
the  Lord  seems  to  send  children  to  those  who  don’t  deserve 
them,  and  not  to  those  that  do.  Many  miserable  little 
creatures  have  I  seen,  who  might  have  been  seized  and 
saved,  body  and  soi^l — as  I  managed  to  save  those  two — 
But  I  beg  your  pardon.  I  go  talking  on — interrupting 
your  husband  at  his  letters — ;for  I  see  he  has  got  them  at 
last.” 

There  were  only  two — ^but  evidently  important — ^for  Mr. 
Trevena  had  dropped  out  of  the  conversation  at  sight  of 
them,  and  sat  poring  over  the  first  one;  till  coming  to  the 
end  he  uttered  something  almost  like  a  cry.  His  wife  came 
to  him. 

“  "VVhat  is  the  matter?” 

“  Oh,  nothing.  Only  Hal  wanting  money — as  usual. 
And  why,  do  you  think?”  There  was  a  mixture  of  the  pa¬ 
thetic  and  the  ludicrous  in  Mr.  Tre vena’s  face  as  he  looked 


KING  ARTHUK. 


35 


up.  ‘'He  is  married! — actually  married  this  time — to  a 
girl  twenty  years  younger  than  himself.  ” 

Mrs.  Trevena^’s  anpous  face  grew  hard  and  stern.  “  It 
is  the  maddest — not  to  say  the  baddest— thing  he  has  ever 
done.  Who  is  she?^^ 

“An  Australian — colonial  born.  HaFs  wife!  and  we 
know  nothing  on  earth  about  her. 

“  And  she  probably  knows  nothing  on  earth  about  him 
— which  is  worse.  Poor  soul!^'’ 

« 

Here  Dr.  Franklin,  feeling  he  had  unawares  come  upon 
a  family  skeleton,  was  discreetly  slipping  away. 

“  Stay  a  minute,  said  Mrs.  Trevena,  “  if  you  will  par¬ 
don  tills  discussion  of  our  family  correspondence.^  Austin, 
open  the  other  letter.  It  may  be  our  money  from  home, 
and  then  we  can  arrange  with  Dr.  Franklin  for  our  depart¬ 
ure  to-morrow.^'’ 

There  was  a  sad  sort  of  resignation  in  her  tone,  as  of  a 
woman  who  has  all  her  days  been  accustomed  to  give  up 
everything  she  most  cared  for,  and  make  the  best  of  what 
was  left — eating  the  crumbs  and  not  the  festival  meats  of 
life.  But  no  one  knows  what  Fate  is  bringing.  The  other 
letter  her  husband  opened  listlessly — and  almost  dropped 
out  of  his  hands  with  a  look  of  amazement  and  joy. 

“  Susannah — oh,  Susannah!  it  has  come  at  lastT^ 

“  What,  dear?^^ 

The  living — that  college  living  I  have  been  hoping  for 
these  twenty  years !  It  is  offered  me  now.  'No  more  pov¬ 
erty — no  more  struggle.  My  Susannah  will  be  a  well-to- 
do  woman  for  the  rest  of  her  days.  Thank  God~thank 
God!^^ 

Quite  overcome,  Mr.  Trevena  sat  down,  covering  his 
eyes  with  his  hand.  His  wife,  forgetful  of  the  stranger ^s 
presence,  knelt  down  beside  him  in  silence.  By  their  deep 
joy  the  doctor  could  plumb  the  depth  of  their  past  suffer¬ 
ing,  hitherto  so  well  concealed.  He  walked  to  the  window, 
im willing  to  walk  quite  away,  and  contemplated  Juno,  the 


36 


KIKG  AKTHUR. 


big  St.  Bernard,  with  three  gigantic  puppies  gamboling 
round  her. 

A  mother  of  sons  is  a  fine  sight,  be  it  brute  or  wom¬ 
an,’^  said  he  to  himself,  apropos  of  nothing;  and  gazed  sh 
lently  on  till  he  felt  a  gentle  touch  on  his  arm. 

“  You  are  so  kind — you  will  rejoice  with  us.  My  hus¬ 
band  has  just  got  a  new  living — the  very  prettiest  rectory 
in  all  Cornwall.  We  are  not  such  poor  people  now,  as  we 
told  you  we  were  this  morning. 

“The  Lord  be  thanked!  His  ways  are  not  so  unlevel 
after  all,  if  one  only  waits  to  see,^^  said  the  Kentuckian, 
with  his  own  rough  but  unmistakable  devoutness,  as  he 
shook  hands  with  both  his  friends  and  congratulated  them 
sincerely.  “  And  now,^’  said  he,  with  his  usual  directness 
— “  about  the  child. 

“  What  child said  Mr.  Trevena  absently. 

“  The  baby  your  wife  wants  to  adopt,  and  I  hope  she 
may.  ITl  help  her  to  do  it,  with  your  permission.  You 
can  afford  now  to  give  yourselves  a  son'and  heir. 

“  But — Susannah,  what  would  Hal  say.^^^ 

There  is  a  saying  that  “  the  worm  will  turn.  Mrs. 
Trevena  had  never  been  a  “  worm;^'’  but  she  had  been  a 
much-enduring  woman — till  now.  It  was  the  crisis  of  her 
patience.  Endurance  changed  into  resistance.  She  rose 
up,  and  even  Dr.  Eranklin  was  startled  by  the  fire  in  her 
eyes. 

“  I  think,  husband,  it  does  not  matter  two  straws  what 
Hal  says.  He  has  spent  all  his  own  patrimony  and  yours. 
You  have  maintained  him  for  years;  now  he  has  chosen  to 
marry,  and  it  is  the  maddest  if  not  the  wickedest  thing  he 
ever  did  in  his  life — which  is  saying  a  good  deal.  He  has 
no  further  claim  upon  you — upon  us.  Let  him  go. 

Rarely  did  Mrs.  Trevena  speak  so  much  or  so  fiercely. 
That  last  “  Let  him  goV^  fell  hard“and  sharp  as  the  knife 
which  has  to  cut  ofi  something  corrupt,  obnoxious — and 
does  it,  with  a  righteous  remorselOssness  better  than  any 


KIKG  AKTHUK. 


37 


feeble  pity,  which  is  often  only  another  name  for  self-ease. 
Even  as  there  are  many  people,  who  are  benevolent  only  to 
give  themselves  pleasure,  so  there  are  many  more  who  are 
merciful  only  to  save  themselves  pain. 

She  is  right,  said  Dr.  Franklin,  dropping  his  bony 
hand  heavily  on  the  table  as  a  sort  of  practical  amen  to  the 
discussion.  ‘‘  Since  you  have  let  me  into  your  family  se¬ 
crets,  excuse  me,  sir,  if  I  use  the  freedom  of  saying,  your 
wife  is  right.  There  are  limits,  even  to  the  claims  of  flesh 
and  blood.  Let  your  brother  go  his  way;  and  do  you  take 
the  child  which  the  Lord  sends  you,  bring  it  up  as  your  son, 
and  trust  to  His  making  it  a  real  son  to  you  both  in  your 
old  age.  Nobody  can  look  ahead;  but  at  any  rate  you  will 
make  your  wife  happy,  and,  as  I  said,  you  will  save  a  soul 
alive. 

He  waxed  preternaturally  eloquent,  as  he  stood,  honest 
man!  his  long  lean  figure  drawn  up  to  its  full  height;  his 
arms  folded  and  his  keen  eyes  glittering — was  it  with  that 
tender  pity  which  only  the  strong  can  feel  ?  or  the  generous 
indignation  that  only  the  righteous  can  show?  Any  how, 
his  words,  so  cordially  in  earnest,  had  their  effect. 

Mr.  Trevena  turned  to  his  wife.  Susannah,  do  you 
really  wish  this?"” 

‘^Yes,  Austin,  I  do. 

Then  I  consent.  For  my  wife^s  sake.  Dr.  Franklin.'’^ 

And  for  His  sake,"’^  added  Susannah,  with  an  upward 
glance  of  her  sweet  eyes — eyes  that  had  in  them  the  perpet¬ 
ual  light  from  Heaven,  which  a  man  might  thankfully  and 
safely  follow  all  his  hfe  through.  “  He  says  to  us.  Take 
this  child  and  nurse  it— for 

‘‘And  now,  said  the  doctor,  clearing  his  throat,  and 
sticking  his  hat  fiercely  down  over  his  brows— “  Fll  go  and 
see  about  this  business — ^the  oddest  bit  of  business  I  ever 
came  across.  Fve  bought  a  good  many  things — but  I 
never  yet  bought  a  baby.  M  hat  form  of  receipt  will  the 
woman  want,  I  wonder?  And  she  must  sign  her  name  to 


38 


KING  AKTHUE. 


it — which  will  let  us  know  what  her  name  is — for  I  ha\en’t 
the  slightest  idea.  By  Jove!  she’s  a  queer  customer;  the 
most  unwomanly  woman  I  ever  had  to  do  with.  Still — I’ll 
face  her.  Here  goes!” 

He  gave  his  soft  felt  hat  another  bang,  which  left  it 
crooked  on  his  head;  and  soon  they  saw  him  striking  off  ta 
the  dejwndance.  They  felt  that,  spite  of  his  address  and 
irusquerWy  if  there  was  ever  a  man  fit  to  be  trusted  with  a 
troublesome  business,  and  certain  to  carry  it  through,  it 
was  the  long  Kentuckian. 

Hour  after  hour  the 'day  went  by.  Husband  and  wife 
did  not  talk  much;  neither  was  given  to  talking— their 
long-parted  lives  had  been  too  solitary;  besides  they  under¬ 
stood  one  another  so  well  that  discussion  was  unnecessary. 
Even  at  this  great  crisis,  when  both  had  plenty  to  think 
about,  they  kept  a  mutual,  tender  silence;  and  as  they  took 
their  quiet  daily  walk  together,  spoke  of  the  mountains,  the 
fiowers,  and  all  other  things  about  them  which  they  were 
accustomed  to  notice  and  take  pleasure  in — the  placid 
pleasure  in  nature’s  blessings  which  grows  rather  than 
decreases  with  years.  But  they  never  once  referred  either 
to  Hal  and  his  marriage,  or  to  the  transaction  which  Dr. 
Franklin  was  engaged  in  at  the  deyendance  close  by. 

As  they  passed  it  on  their  return  it  was  as  silent  as  death; 
the  doors  and  windows  closed,  as  had  been  the  case  all 
along.  Mrs.  Trevena  gave  a  little  sigh.  But  her  husband 
never  seemed  to  notice  anything. 

The  .glowing  June  day  was  beginning  to  melt  into  tho 
long  twilight  of  the  mountains,  behind  whose  tops  the  suru 
disappears  so  soon;  when  Dr.  Franklin’s  knock  was  heart 
at  their  door.  Mrs.  Trevena  opened  it  with  an  eager  face^ 
in  which  hope  seemed  to  struggle  with  patience — ^the  pa^ 
tience  of  a  woman  long  accustomed  to  disappointment. 

The  shrewd  doctor  saw  this  at  once,  and  held  out  hiw 
hand  with  a  smile. 

‘‘  Well,  ma’am,  congratulate  me.  I  think  I’ve  man- 


KING  AKTHUK. 


89 


aged  it — and  her.  But  she  is  the  queerest  fish;  a  '  woman 
of  genius/  she  calls  herself^  and  not  to  be  judged  like  other 
women.  Bless  my  soul! — if  she  is  a  woman  of  genius  I^m 
glad  Mrs.  Franklin  isn’t!  But  to  our  business.  You  hear 
me,  Mr.  Trevena?” 

”  Yes — ^yes,”  said  the  good  clergyman,  closing  his  book, 
but  looking  rather  bored  as  he  did  so. 

This  lady — queer  as  she  is,  I  an>  sure  she  is  a  lady, 
well-educated  and  all  that — says  you  may  have  her  baby 
for  twenty  pounds  English  money,  paid  down;  and  that 
then  ‘  the  sooner  you  take  the  brat  away  the  better.  ’  Those 
were  her  words.  She  promises  never  to  trouble  you  about 
it — she  doesn’t  even  want  to  hear  your  name — ^which,  in¬ 
deed,  I  have  taken  the  precaution  not  to  tell  her — and  she 
refuses  to  tell  you  hers.  She  says  you  may  call  the  boy 
anything  you  like.  ‘  He’s  the  image  of  his  father — and 
that’s  why  I  hate  him!’  she  said  one  day.  Oh,  she’s  an  aw¬ 
ful  woman. 

‘‘  Is  he  ” — the  color  rose  in  Mrs.  Trevena’s  matron  cheek, 
but  she  forced  herself  to  ask  the  question — “  is  he — do  you 
think — his  father’s  lawful  child?” 

“  I  conclude  so.  She  speaks  sometimes  of  ‘  my  fool  of 
a  husband,’  and  ‘  the  little  wretches  at  home.  ’  But,  as  I 
told  you,  I  know  absolutely  nothing.  You  might  as  well 
squeeze  water  out  of  a  stone  as  any  common-sense  truth  out 
of  that  woman.  She  is  a  perfectly  abnormal  specimen  of 
her  sex.  ” 

Perhaps  she  is  mad.” 

“  Hot  a  bit  of  it;  perfectly  sound  in  mind  and  body — has 
made  a  wonderfully  quick  recovery.  A  shrewd  person,  too 
— wide-awake  to  her  own  interests.  If  you  want  the  baby 
to-morrow,  she  insists  upon  having  the  twenty  pounds  paid 
down  to-night.  ” 

Mr.  Trevena  looked  perplexed,  and  turned  appealingly 
to  his  wife — as  he  seemed  in  the  habit  of  doing  in  most 
emergencies. 


40 


KIKG  ARTHUR. 


“We  have  not  got  the  money/'’  she  said,  simply.  “We 
have  hardly  any  money  left;  hut  our  remittances  will  be 
sure  to  come  to-morrow.  If  I  might  have  the  baby — 

“  I  wish  to  heaven  you  had  it  now,  ma’am — for  I  don’t 
want  to  have  to  give  evidence  to  the  Swiss  government  in  a 
case  of  child-desertion,  or  child-murder.  However,  I’ll  go 
over  again  and  see  what  can  be  done.  There  is  the  M/e 
dHiote  bell.  Shall  we  go  down  to  dinner?” 

They  dined,  rather  silently,  amidst  the  clatter  of  a  party 
of  Germans  who  had  just  come  up  from  Lucerne,  and  were 
passing  on  over  the  St.  Gothard  next  day;  and  who,  with 
characteristic  economy,  appealed  to  the  “  rich  English  ”  to 
take  their  carriage  back,  and  to  save  them  the  expense  of 
paying  for  the  return  journey. 

“We  might  have  done  it,  had  our  money  come  in  time,” 
said  Mr.  Trevena.  “  I  am  sure  I  don’t  want  to  stay  a  day 
longer  in  Andermatt  than  I  can  help.  ” 

“E’er  I,”  added  Hr.  Franklin— then  catching  Mrs. 
Trevena’s  anxious  eyes — “  But  I  shall  make  it  a  point  of 
honor — medical  honor — to  see  my  patient  safe  through. 
E^ot  that  she  is  a  paying  patient,  though  she  did  one  day 
offer  me  a  diamond  ring — I  am  almost  sorry  I  refused  it, 
or  it  might  have  been  some  clew.  But  no!” — continued 
he  in  a  whisper  to  Mrs.  Trevena — “  Mother — take  your 
son — if  I  can  get  him  for  you — and  forget  he  ever  had  any 
mother  besides  yourself.  ” 

Once  again  the  childless  woman’s  eyes  flashed  upon  the 
goor  doctor  a  look  of  passionate  gratitude.  Then  she  rose, 
and  went  and  sat  patiently  in  the  window  recess  of  the  now 
empty  salle-d-manger,  watching  the  full  round  moon,  risen 
long  since,  but  only  now  appearing  over  the  tops  of  the 
mountains — ^like  a  joy  found  late  in  life,  yet  none  the  less 
a  complete  and  perfect  joy. 

Before  long  she  heard  Hr.  Franklin’s  long  striding  step 
and  cheery  voice. 

“  Well,  ma’am,  I’ve  done  ft  at  last.  You  will  get  your 


KIKG  AKTHUE. 


41 


baby.  Not  to-night — she  ^  can^t  be  bothered  ^  to-night, 
she  says — but  to-morrow  morning.  Also,  IVe  spoken  to 
madame  (whom  I  had  to  take  into  our  confidence,  for  she 
threatened  to  turn  adrift  ‘Madame  L'^Anonyme,^  as  she 
contemptuously  calls  her,  within  twelve  hours),  and  she 
will  sell  you  the  clothes  she  lent,  and  the  goat;  or  get  you 
a  nourrice  from  the  next  canton,  so  that  you  can  keep  the 
matter  as  secret  as  you  choose.  ' 

“  Thank  you/^  Mrs.  Trevena  said.  “  But  I  had  rather 
not  keep  it  secret.  I  have  considered  everything,  and  I  am 
sure  it  will  be  better  to  tell  the  plain  truth  at  once;  that  I 
have  adopted  a  deserted  child,  and  that  he  is  henceforth 
my  son — and  I  am  his  mother. 

The  intonation  of  the  last  word  startled  even  the  good 
doctor,  who  knew  human  nature  so  well.  It  indicated  one 
of  those  natures  to  whom  motherhood  is  not  merely  a  senti¬ 
ment  or  a  duty,  but  a  passion.  He  felt  that  he  had  done 
well — or  rather  that  heaven  had  done  better. 

“  You  are  right, he  said,  “  the  outside  world  need 
never  know  any  more  than  that — and  I  earnestly  hope  you 
never  will  either.  As  for  the  boy  liimself,  when  he  grows 
up  you  may  tell  him  as  much  or  as  little  as  you  please.  ’  ^ 

“  I  shall  tell  him  everything.  The  truth  is  always  best. 

Dr.  Franklin  shook  her  warmly  by  the  hand.  “  I  wish 
every  boy  in  the  world  had  a  mother  like  you.  May  he 
live  to  ‘  rise  up  and  call  you  blessed!^ 

Middle-aged  and  practical  folk  as  they  were,  tears  stood 
in  the  eyes  of  both.  They  understood  one  another. 

“And  now,'’^  continued  the  doctor,  “  Ifil  just  have  to 
face  that  woman  once  more — about  ten  to-morrow  fore¬ 
noon,  she  said.  But  I  shall  not  try  to  worin  anything  more 
out  of  either  her  or  her  servant,  who  obeys  her  like  a  slave 
— she  was  her  slave,  and  foster-mother  as  well — you  anti¬ 
slavery  folk  donT  know  the  dogged  fidelity  of  our  Southern 
niggers.  But  ITl  wash  my  hands  of  both — when  I  get  tho 


42 


KmQ  AKTHUR. 


baby.  And  then  we  three — with  the  young  ^un  and  the 
goat,  or  a  bottle  of  goat^s  milk — will  go  on  to  Fluelen  in 
that  carriage  the  Germans  had.  I  told  the  T7oman  this; 
and  oh!  how  she  pricked  up  her  ears,  as  if  the  only  thing 
she  wished  was  to  get  rid  of  her  baby  and  never  see  it  again 
in  this  world — as  I  fervently  hope  she  never  may!’^ 

“  I  hope  so  too;  and  I  intend  it,'’^  said  Mrs.  Trevena, 
very  quietly,  but  with  a  firmness  that  betrayed  the  possible 
“  iron  hand  in  velvet  glove  — even  her  little  hand.  And 
as  Mr.  Trevena  just  then  lounged  in — with  his  gentle,  gen¬ 
tlemanly,  absent  manner,  and  his  eternal  book  under  his 
arm — Dr.  Frankhn  thought  that  perhaps  the  little  woman 
had  found  out  how  in  this  life  firmness  is  as  necessary  as 
gentleness. 

Everybody  slept  soundly  that  night;  the  worthy  doctor, 
because  he  believed  he  had  done  his  duty;  Mrs.  Trevena, 
because  she  saw  plainly  before  her  in  long  glad  vista  hers; 
and  Mr.  Trevena,  because  he  did  not  think  about  it  at  all; 
being  absorbed  in  a  new  reading  which  he  had  hit  upon  of 
a  line  in  Horace,  and  which  he  tried  to  explain  to  his  wife 
before  they  went  to  sleep.  During  the  night  one  of  those 
dense  wliite  mists,  common  at  Andermatt,  swept  doTO 
from  the  moimtains;  by  morning  ever3rthmg  outside  the 
hotel  had  become  invisible;  and,  after  the  early  departure 
of  the  German  tourists,  the  almost  empty  hotel  seemed  to 
become  as  quiet  as  the  grave. 

The  post  arrived,  bringing  Mr.  Trevena  his  expected 
remittances,  which  he  handed  over  as  usual  to  his  Chan¬ 
cellor  of  the  Exchequer,  as  he  called  her — well  for  him 
that  she  was!  With  hands  slightly  trembling  she  examined 
the  notes — there  was  enough  money  to  take  them  home, 
and  twenty  pounds  over. 

Mrs.  Trevena  looked  nervously  at  her  watch.  “  Is  not 
Doctor  Franklin  late?^^  she  said — or  rather  was  about  to  say 
— when  she  saw  him  hurrying  in  from  the  dependance. 

‘‘  I  want  you,  ma^’am.  Come  back  with  me.  If  that 


KIKa  ABTHUR.  43 

Voman  is  not  a  murderess,  she  is  next  door  to  one.  But 
we  may  save  the  child  yet  if  we  make  haste. 

Mrs.  Trevena  threw  a  shawl  over  her  head  and  ran. 
There,  in  the  middle  of  the  one  poor  room,  which  had 
witnessed  its  unwelcome  birth,  lay  the  deserted  child,  half 
naked  and  only  half  alive,  for  no  one  seemed  to  have  taken 
the  trouble  to  feed  or  dress  it.  The  floor  was  strewn  with 
the  debris  of  a  hasty  packing,  and  the  accumulated  untidi¬ 
ness  of  many  days.  In  the  midst  of  this  chaos  the  poor 
infant  lay,  moaning  its  little  life  away— a  very  feeble  moan 
now,  for  it  must  have  lain  there  several  hours. 

Mrs.  Trevena  dropped  on  her  knees  beside  it.  “  Oh, 
my  baby!  my  baby!’’^  she  cried  almost  with  a  sob;  took  it 
in  her  arms,  pressing  the  stone  cold  limbs  to  her  warm 
breast,  and  wrapping  it  in  the  skirt  of  her  dress,  as  she  sat 
on  the  floor. 

“  It  is  naine^  altogether  mine  now.  Oh,  doctor,  can  you 
save  it  yet?” 

“  ITl  try,^^  muttered  the  good  man,  as  he  too  knelt 
down  and  felt  the  fluttering  pulse — rapidly  sinking  into 
stillness  and  death. 

They  did  try;  and  with  the  help  of  madame,  who  arrived 
presently  from  the  hotel,  equally  voluble  in  her  fury 
against  ^‘Madame  L^Anonyme,”  and  her  wondering  re¬ 
spect  for  the  gentle  English  miladi  —  they  succeeded. 
Another  hour,  and  the  fleeting  life  had  been  arrested :  the 
danger  was  past;  and  the  poor  little  babe,  warmed,  fed,  and 
clothed,  lay  safe  in  the  bosom  of  its  new-found  mother, 
who  rejoiced  over  it  almost  as  if  it  had  been  the  child  of 
her  own  travail,  which  Heaven  had  taken  away. 

‘‘  This  little  fellow  will  owe  you  his  life  almost  as  much 
as  if  he  had  been  born  your  own,^'’  said  the  doctor,  regard¬ 
ing  them  both  with  the  curious  tenderness  which  sometimes 
softened  his  keen,  shrewd  eyes.  If  we  had  not  come  to 
the  rescue,  he  would  have  been  dead  in  another  half  hour. 
Kow — ^bless  us!  what  a  pair  of  lungs !^^ 


44 


KTKG  ARTHUR. 


No,  lie  will  not  die — as  his  mother  meant  him  to  die,^’ 
cried  indignant  madame,  who  with  nearly  all  the  female 
servants  of  the  hotel  had  gathered  round  in  compassion 
and  sympathy.  ‘‘  The  barbarous  woman !  and,  though  she 
had  a  wedding-ring  on  her  finger,  I  beheve  she  was  a 
woman  of  no  character  at  all.'’^ 

“  We  do  not  know  that,’^  said  Mrs.  T revena,  trying  to 
understand  the  French,  and  speaking  firmly  in  her  own 
tongue.  ‘‘  Let  us  be  silent  about  her.  She  is — or  rather 
she  was — my  boy^’s  mother. 

From  that  hour  Susannah  always  said,  “  My  boy.^^ 

‘‘  Madame  L"* Anonyme  had  in  truth  disappeared,  as 
anonymously  as  she  came.  How  she  and  her  servant  had 
contrived  to  secure  the  Fluelen  carriage,  pack  up  their  small 
baggage,  and  make  what  was  literally  a  “  moonlight  flit¬ 
ting,'’^  so  quietly  that  no  one  had  heard  them  depart,  was, 
and  remained,  a  complete  mystery.  '  ^ 

No  one  sought  to  unravel  it.  No  one  pursued  them  or 
cared  to  do  so — what  could  be  gained  by  it?  Nothing  could 
be  got  out  of  them.  The  puzzle  was,  how,  without  money, 
they  had  managed  to  get  away;  and  it  was  not  till  the  up¬ 
roarious  complaints  of  madame  had  been  a  little  stilled  by 
the  application  of  a  few  English  shillings — or  rather  Ameri¬ 
can  dollars — that  the  doctor,  seeing  Mrs.  Trevena  uneasy 
because  her  part  of  the  compact  had  not  been  fulfilled — she 
had  got  the  child,  and  the  twenty  pounds  was  still  m  her 
pocket — owned,  blushing  like  a  girl,  that  he  himself  had 
‘  ‘  taken  the  liberty  of  paying  it  the  night  before. 

‘‘  It  seemed  the  only  way  to  quiet  the  woman,  and  keep 
her  from  doing  something  desperate.  But  you  see  she  had 
less  of  desperation  and  more  of  worldly  wisdom  than  I 
thought.  Anyhow  she  is  gone,  and  we  have  got  rid  of  her 
— I  hope  forever. 

Thanks  to  you,^^  said  Mrs.  Trevena,  as  she  silently  put 
the  bank-note  in  the  doctor ^s  hand;  and  he  took  it,  for  he 
was  a  practical  man,  and  a  poor  man  besides. 


KIKG  ARTHUR. 


45 


I  have  made  everything  as  safe  as  I  can/^  said  he. 
''  She  has  no  clew  to  us,  or  we  to  her.  Neither  she  nor  her 
servant,  who  speaks  only  English,  has  ever  heard  your 
name — only  mine;  and  as  I  am  going  back  to  America  at 
once,  she  is  not  likely  to  find  me  out  there.  If  she  ever 
does,  and  wants  to  know  about  her  child,  shefil  meet  her 
match — that^s  all!^"^ 

Thank  you,  said  Mrs.  Trevena.  For  Mr.  Trevena, 
he  said  nothing  at  all;  he  only  watched  with  benignant 
pleasure  the  unspeakable  content  of  his  wife^s  face;  and 
thence  glanced  downward,  with  a  sort  of  amused  curiosity, 
to  the  little  creature  on  her  lap,  especially  its  hands  and 
feet,  as  if  to  find  out  whether  it  had  the  right  number  of 
fingers  and  toes,  and  was  no  abnormal  specimen  of  anthro¬ 
pology.  A  simple  man,  and  a  good  man,  was  the  Rever¬ 
end  Austin;  never  swerving  from  his  one  domestic  creed, 
that  if  his  Susannah  thought  a  thing  right,  it  was  right. 

So  the  exciting  episode,  which  madame  in  her  anxiety  for 
the  good  name  of  her  hotel  wisely  hushed  up  as  much  as 
possible,  settled  down  into  calmness.  The  baby  did  not 
die,  as  its  natural  unnatural  mother  had  probably  hoped  it 
might.  The  goat  was  an  excellent  foster-mother;  and 
before  forty-eight  hours  were  over,  Mrs.  Trevena  felt — ay, 
and  looked,  as  if  she  herself  had  been  a  real  mother  for 
years. 

Dr.  Franklin  watched  her  with  his  expression  of  dry 
humor,  tempered  by  kindliness. 

Mrs.  Franklin  says,  all  the  doctors  and  nurses  going 
canT  manage  a  baby  so  well  as  one  sensible  woman  with  a 
motherly  heart.  And  as  she  has  managed  ten,  may  be  she 
is  right.  Now — about  the  journey  to  Lucerne.  If  you 
take  a  bottle  of  goat^s  milk  with  you — also  a  doctor,  in 
case  of  emergency,  we  shall  get  back  to  civilization  without 
any  difficulty.  A  nice  ‘  partie  quarree  ^ — you  and  your 
husband,  myself,  and — this  little  incumbrance. 

Incumbrance!^^  echoed  Mrs.  Travena,  looking  up  to 


46 


KING  AKTHUK. 


Dr.  Franklin  with  a  grateful  smile— no,  an  actual  laugh. 
He  had  never  heard  her  laugh  before.  And  she  had  much 
interested  him — this  little  woman— not  merely  as  a  woman, 
but  as  a  case;'’^  one  of  those  cases  which  most  people  dis¬ 
believe  in,  yet  which,  though  rare,  are  possible — a  “  broken 
heart. A  disease  of  which,  if  they  have  no  absolute  du¬ 
ties  and  are  not  physically  strong,  women  can  die,  without 
murmur  or  regret.  They  neither  struggle  nor  complain; 
but  simply  drop  out  of  life  as  out  of  a  worn  garment  no 
longer  worth  the  wearing. 

No  fear  of  that  now  for  Susannah.  Her  whole  nature 
seemed  changed.  Hope  seemed  to  have  come  into  her  heart 
— the  hope  that  comes  with  young  life,  rising  up  to  renew 
and  carry  on  the  life  which  had  seemed  fading  away.  Her 
very  face  grew  youthful;  with  a  look  not  unlike  some  of 
EaphaeFs  Madonnas;  far  away,  as  if  peering  into  the  dim 
future;  and  yet  content  in  the  present — the  small  limited 
present,  from  day  to  day,  and  hour  to  hour,  as  mothers 
learn  to  look. 

For  she  was  a  mother  now  to  all  intents  and  purposes. 
She  kept  saying  to  herself  involuntarily  that  line  of  Mrs. 
Browning^s  lovely  poem,  A  chikFs  grave  at  Florence — 

My  little  feet,  my  little  hands. 

And  hair  of  Lily’s  color.” 

As  she  almost  persuaded  herself  it  was;  that  the  hair — 
quite  wonderful  for  a  baby  a  week  old,  which  she  admired 
and  toyed  with,  was  exactly  the  same  shade  as  that  on  tlie 
nameless  little  head  which  had  been  buried,  one  sad  mid¬ 
night,  in  a  corner  of  the  church-yard  by  the  vicarage  gar¬ 
den-gate. 

Often  it  really  seemed  to  her  that  her  lost  child  had  come 
back  alive,  bringing  with  him  the  future  of  bliss  to  which 
she  had  looked  forward,  all  through  those  mysterious 
months — and  then  had  to  renounce  forever.  It  revived 
again  now.  Every  time  she  kissed  the  crumpled-up  mot- 


KING  AKTHUK. 


47 


\ 

\ 

tled\face — which  had  no  beauty  for  any  one  hut  her — she 
saw  in  imagination  the  face  of  her  son,  as  boy,  youth,  man; 
carrying  her  forward  five,  ten,  twenty  years — years  full  of 
hope;  does  not  some  poet  call  a  child  a  perpetual 
hope?^'’ 

Think  what  our  new  home  will  be — a  house  with  a 
child  in  itr"’"’  she  said  to  her  husband  once;  only  once,  for 
her  happiness  lay  too  deep  to  be  talked  about,  even  to  him. 
Nor  could  he  have  understood  it.  He  was  not  of  an 
imaginative  turn  of  mind.  So  that  nothing  troubled  him 
in  the  present — and  his  wife  took  good  care  of  that — he 
never  troubled  himself  about  the  future.  Like  many 
another  contented  bookworm,  he  rarely  saw  an  inch  beyond 
his  own  nose.  Yet  he  was  the  most  patient  and  easily  satis¬ 
fied  of  men,  even  to  remaining  a  day  or  two  longer  at  An- 
dermatt;  and  going  about  with  Dr.  Franklin  instead  of  his 
wife,  whose  new-found  duties,  added  to  the  ordinary  travel¬ 
ing  cares,  which  always  fell  upon  her,  not  him,  absorbed 
her  entirely. 

But  at  last  the  two  men,  coming  home  from  a  quiet 
wander  through  the  flowery  meadows  beside  the  Reuss,  and 
an  investigation,  chiefly  to  kill  time,  of  the  little  chapel, 
with  its  strange  glass  tomb  of  the  mummied  knight  lying 
‘^in  his  habit  as  he  lived  — found  Mrs.  Treven a  sitting, 
oblivious  of  Alps  and  antiquities,  with  her  baby  asleep  on 
her  lap,  and  everything  settled  for  their  departure  to-mor¬ 
row. 

‘‘  It  will  soon  seem  all  like  a  dream,’^  she  said,  as  she 
cast  her  eyes  absently  on  the  wonderful  view  from  the  win¬ 
dow — the  great  circle  of  mountains,  the  georgeously  col¬ 
ored  pastures,  and  the  wild  rapid  Reuss  glittering  in  the 
sun.  ‘‘We  are  nev^er  likely  to  see  this  place  again;  but  I 
think  I  shall  always  remember  it — the  place  where  my  boy 
was  born. 

“  And  born  again — if  one  may  say  it  without  irrever¬ 
ence,^"’ added  Dr.  Franklin,  “otherwise  he  had  better  be 


48 


KIKG  AETHUE. 


dead — as  he  certainly  would  have  been  now,  except  for 
you.  By  the  bye,  you  will  have  to  give  the  young  scamp 
a  name — and  the  sooner  you  do  it  the  better.  Get  him 
christened,  and  keep  a  copy  of  the  baptismal  certificate. 
It  may  be  useful  yet.  And  I  think  you  might  as  well  make 
me  his  godfather,  because  I  at  least  know  when  and  where 
he  was  born.  It  will  be  a  certain  protection  both  to  him 
and  to  you.-’^ 

‘‘  Thank  you!^^  said  Mrs.  Trevena  gratefully — but  she 
smiled  at  the  idea  of  her  child^s  needing  “  protection  — or 
she  either.  With  him  in  her  arms  she  felt  as  strong,  as 
fearless,  as  any  natural  mother — even  beast  or  bird  does, 
with  the  instinct  of  maternity  upon  her. 

Dr.  Franklin  stuck  to  his  point,  insisting  that  a  baptis¬ 
mal  certificate  was  the  nearest  approach  they  could  make 
to  giving  the  child  “  a  local  habitation  and  a  name  in 
this  perplexing  worl^,  the  godparents  attesting  the  place 
and  date  of  birth,  though  they  could  only  add  ‘‘*parentage 
unknown. 

“  And  then  you  must  take  your  chance  as  to  the  future, 
and  this  poor  little  fellow  also;  unless  you  will  come  with 
me  to  America,  where,  in  our  enlightened  States,  you  can 
lawfully  adopt  him. 

But  that  would  be  of  no  use  in  England,  you  said,  and 
England  must  be  our  home.  Yes,  we  must  take  our 
chance,^^  she  added,  with  an  under- tone  that  implied  one 
who  meant  to  control  chance,  rather  than  succumb  to  it. 
“  And  now,  about  the  name — the  Christian  name.  For 
surname,  he  will  take  ours — shall  he  not,  Austinr^^ 

“  Anything  you  like — anything  you  like,  my  dear.'’^ 

“  Yes,  I  think  you  are  right,  Mrs.  Trevena.  Poor  little 
man,  his  name  matters  little.  He  will  have  to  go  through 
life  as  nobody ^s  child. 

“  Except  God^s — and  mine. 

And  Susannah  pressed  her  lips,  as  solemnly  as  if  it  had 
been  a  sacrament  or  a  vow,  on  the  tiny  hand  with  its 


KIKG  AETHUR. 


49 


curled-up  fingers;  the  feeble  right  hand,  so  helpless  now — 
but  would  it  be  always  so? 

Dr.  Franklin  smiled,  kindly,  paternally,  on  the  creature 
whose  life  he  had  helped  to  save;  why,  or  to  what  end,  who 
could  tell?  All  child-lives  are  a  mystery,  but  this  was  a 
mystery  above  all.  The  little  thing  lay  sleeping  in  uncon¬ 
scious  peace  on  its  adopted  mother^s  lap:  the  infant  who 
would  be  a  man  when  they  were  in  their  graves.  But  the 
two  men  did  not  understand.  The  woman  did. 

Mrs.  Trevena  at  last  looked  up.  A  twihght  glow  reflected 
from  the  mountains  was  on  her  face;  and  an  inward  glow, 
which  made  her  almost  pretty  again — almost  young. 

‘‘I  have  thought  of  a  name.  We  are  Cornish  born,  as  I 
told  you.  Doctor  Franklin.  When  I  was  a  girl,  my  one  hero 
was  our  great  Cornishman,  who  was  also  ‘  Nobody^s  child 
— ^found  by  Merlin,  they  say,  as  a  little  naked  baby  on  the 
shore  at  Tintagel,  but  he  grew  up  to  be  the  stainless 
knight — the  brave  soldier — the  Christian  king.  My  boy 
shall  do  the  same — in  his  own  way.  It  does  not  matter  how 
he  was  born,  if  he  lives  so  that  everybody  will  mourn  him 
when  he  dies.  So  he  shall  have  my  heroes  name.  He  shall 
be  my  ‘  King  ^  Arthur.'’^ 

“  You  romantic  Httle  woman!”  said  her  husband,  half 
apologetically,  half  proudly.  But  he  listened  to  her,  as  he 
always  did;  and  her  decision  carried  the  day. 

Next  morning,  when  the  sun  had  just  risen  above  the 
mountains,  and  was  only  beginning  to  warm  the  silent 
valley,  the  little  party  left  Andermatt;  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Trevena,  Dr.  Franklin,  and  the  ‘‘incumbrance,^^  as  the 
doctor  called  it,  but  who  slept  so  calmly  as  to  be  no  incum¬ 
brance  at  all.  It  was  evidently  an  infant  of  placid  mind, 
able  to  accommodate  itself  to  circumstances. 

They  were  followed  by  the  benedictions  and  good  wishes 
of  madame  and  the  hotel  people,  who  could  not,  to  the  last, 
imderstand  the  affair,  but  set  it  all  down  to  English  eccen- 


50 


KIKG  AETHUR. 


tricity.  They  departed,  and  the  little  remote  Alpine  Val¬ 
ley,  which  had  witnessed  so  mnch,  knew  them  no  more. 


CHAPTER  III. 

Arthur  Frahklih  Teeyeha— for  they  had  given  him 
also  the  name  of  his  good  godfather,  who  parted  from  him 
at  Lucerne,  never  probably  to  behold  him  again — King 
Arthur  arrived  at  the  vicarage  which  his  adopted  parents, 
creating  no  small  sensation  in  the  parish  which  they  had 
left,  a  forlorn  and  childless  couple,  six  months  before.  But 
the  villagers  were  simple  folks,  who  accepted  the  baby  upon 
his  “  mother’s  own  simple  statement.  Mrs.  Trevena  was 
among  the  few  people  who  have  courage  to  believe  that  the 
plain  truth  is  not  only  the  wisest  but  the  safest  thing — that 
he  was  a  deserted  child,  whom  she  had  taken  for  her  own, 
and  meant  to  bring  up  exactly  as  her  own.  And  those 
other  mothers  who  remembered  her  sad  looks  when  she 
went  away,  and  compared  them  with  her  happy  looks  now, 
agreed  that  “  the  parson^s  wife  had  done  right  and  best, 
not  only  for  herself,  but  most  likely  for  “  the  parson 
also. 

The  only  individual  who  ventured  to  question  this,  or  in 
any  way  to  criticise  the  proceeding,  was  a  neighboring 
clergyman,  a  college  friend,  who  in  Mr.  Trevena’s  absence 
had  undertaken  the  care  of  the  hundred  souls  his  parish 
contained.  This  gentleman,  a  man  of  fortune  and  family, 
remonstrated,  in  a  letter  of  sixteen  pages,  with  his  “  rever¬ 
end  brother  on  what  he  had  done,  in  bringing  a  nameless 
child,  possibly  the  offspring  of  sin  and  shame,  into  a  re¬ 
spectable  and,  above  all,  a  clergyman's  household.  He 
quoted  many  texts,  such  as  the  sins  of  the  fathers  shall  be 
visited  on  the-children,^^  and  “  the  seed  of  evil-doers  shall 
never  be  renowned,^ ^  which  for  a  moment  staggered  the 
simple-minded  vicar.  And  he  ended  by  asking,  What 


KING  ARTHUK. 


51 


would  the  Trevenas  say?'’  ^ — ^forgetting  that  the  only  Trevena 
left  was  Hal  at  the  Antipodes,  of  whom  even  his  old  college 
acquaintance  would  have  owned,  if  questioned,  that  the 
less  said  about  him  the  better. 

But,  except  this  lengthy  epistle,  which  Mr.  Trevena  read 
in  silence,  and  passed  on  to  Mrs.  Trevena,  by  whose  gleam¬ 
ing  eyes  he  saw  that  the  silence  had  better  be  continued, 
for  there  was  a  dangerous  light  in  them  that  few  men 
would  have  cared  to  face— the  couple  met  with  no  opposi¬ 
tion  or  comment  on  what  they  had  done  or  what  they  meant 
to  do.  The  nine  days'’  wonder  settled  down;  and  after  the 
village  mothers  had  come  to  looK  at  the  baby,  and  pro¬ 
nounced  it  the  finest  baby,  that  ever  was  seen,  everybody 
seemed  to  take  the  matter  as  quite  natural.  Poor  people 
are  often  so'kind,  sometimes  so  romantically  generous,  about 
other  people^ s  children:  many  a  nursing  mother  will  not 
scruple  to  take  to  her  home  and  her  breast  some  motherless 
babe;  and  many  a  nameless  infant,  paid  for  at  first,  and 
then  forsaken,  has  been  brought  up  for  charity  by  its  foster- 
parents.  So  the  fact  of  an  adopted  child  did  not  strike 
these  innocent  villagers  as  anything  remarkable.  They  only 
thought  it  was  uncommon  kind^^  of  Mrs.  Trevena,  and 
hoped  she  would  be  rewarded  for  her  ‘‘  charity.'’'’ 

Charity!  She  laughed  at  the  word.  Charity  had  noth¬ 
ing  at  all  to  do  with  it.  A  child  in  the  house — it  was  a  joy 
incarnate — a  blessing  unspeakable — a  consolation  without 
end.  She  did  her  duties,  neither  light  nor  few,  but  through 
them  all  she  hugged  herself  in  her  secret  bliss.  She  used 
to  think  of  it  as  she  walked— as  she  chatted  to  her  neighbors 
— and  (oh,  sinful  Susannah!)  often  as  she  sat  in  church. 
‘‘‘My  little  feet — my  little  hands. When  she  came  back 
to  them,  when  she -ran  upstairs  to  the  small  attic — small 
but  sunshiny — where  Manette  and  Arthur  were  installed, 
and  taking  the  baby,  sat,  rocking  him  and  singing  to  him 
in  the  old-fashioned  rocking-chair  which  had  been  her 
mother^s,  every  care  she  had — and  she  had  some,  a  few 


5^  KING  AKTHUf^. 

mole-hills  that  many  another  woman  would  have  made  in.  i 
mountains — seemed  to  melt  away.  That  morbid  self-con¬ 
templation,  if  not  actual  selfishness,  which  is  so  apt  to  grow 
upon  old  maids  and  childless  wives-— upon  almost  all  women 
who  have  arrived  at  middle  age  without  knowing  the 
“baby-fingers,  waxen  touches,’^  which  press  ail  bitterness 
out  of  the  mother’s  breast — vanished  into  thin  air.  It 
could  not  exist  amidst  the  wholesome  practicality  of  nursery- 
life;  a  nursery  where  the  mother  is  a  real  mother,  and  sees 
to  everything  herself,  as  was  necessary  in  this  case.  For 
Manette,  the  young  Swiss  orphan  whom  they  had  found  at 
Lucerne  and  installed  as  nurse,  was  a  mere  girl,  who  spoke 
no  English,  though  she  soon  taught  her  mistress  to  speak 
French.  They  two  became  very  happy  together,  guarding 
with  mutual  care,  and  sometimes  just  a  spice  of  jealousy, 
the  little  warm  white  bundle  which  contained  a  sentient 
human  being — or  what  would  be  one  day — Manette’s  pet 
and  plaything,  Mrs.  Trevena’s  “  perpetual  hope.  ” 

Had  she  been  a  disappointed  woman?  Perhaps;  in  some 
sense  all  women  of  imaginative  temperament  are.  The}^ 
start  in ‘life  expecting  the  impossible,  which  of  course  never 
comes;  and  at  last  find  themselves  growing  old  with  their 
hearts  still  painfully  young~it  may  be,  a  little  empty;  for 
not  even  the  best  of  men  and  husbands  can  altogether  fill 
the  void  which  Nature  makes;  even  as  no  woman  can  fill, 
or  ought  to  fill,  that  sterner  half  of  a  man’s  being  which  is 
meant  for  the  world  and  its  work. 

But  now  Susannah’s  empty  heart  was  filled — her  monoto¬ 
nous  life  brightened;  the  future  (she  was  only  just  over 
forty,  and  had  a  future  still) — stretched  out  long  and  fair; 
for  it  was  not  her  own — it  was  her  son’s.  The  evening  be¬ 
fore  they  left  the  vicar^e  for  the  new  rectory — a  sweet 
September  evening — since  it  had  takeii  fully  three  months 
to  make  the  new  home  ready  to  receive  them — she  went  out 
alone  and  planted  a  young  tree,  a  seedling  sycamore,  which 
no  one  was  likely  to  notice  till  it  grew  a  tree — in  the  church- 


\ 


KIKG  AKTHUR.  53 

yard  corner,  where  was  the  little  grave  of  which  nobody 
knew.  But  she  scarcely  felt  it  a  farewell.  She  thought 
how  the  fibers  would  wrap  themselves  tenderly  round  the 
buried  bones,  and  the  top  would  spread  itseK  out  into  green 
leaves  and  branches.  And  it  seemed  as  if  out  of  her  dead 
baby’s  grave  had  sprung  the  other  child — another  and  yet 
the  same — sent  direct  from  Heaven  to  be  her  comfort  and 
blessing.  Unconsciously  she  repeated  to  herself  the  bene¬ 
diction  of  the  Psalmist; 

He  shall  be  like  a  tree  planted  by  the  water-side,  that 
will  bring  forth  his  fruit  in  due  season;  his  leaf  also  shall 
not  wither;  and  look!  whatsoever  he  doeth  it  shall  pros¬ 
per.” 

“  It  will  be  so,”  she  said  to  herself,  “  if  I  have  strength 
to  bring  him  up  in  the  right  way,  to  make  him  into  a  just 
man — ‘  a  man  that  feareth  the  Lord.  ’  Then,  I  need  have 
no  fear.  ‘  Whatsoever  he  doeth  it  shall  prosper.’  ” 

And  little  Arthur — somehow,  from  the  first,  he  was 
always  called  Arthur,  never  “  baby  ’  ’ — did  seem  to  prosper: 
as  much  in  his  new  home  as  in  his  old  one.  He  had  a  larger 
and  better  nursery,  not  at  the  top,  but  at  the  end  of  the 
house;  which  was  a  very  pretty  house,  the  prettiest  as  well 
as  the  most  comfortable  that  Susannah  had  ever  lived  in. 
From  her  youth  up  she  had  had  to  battle  with  the  domestic 
ugliness  that  accompanies  grinding  poverty;  to  smother 
down  her  tastes  and  predelictions,  to  live  in  streets  instead 
vt  fields — at  least  till  her  marriage.  And  even  marriage 
had  brought  little  respite  in  the  hard  work,  the  ceaseless 
cares — inevitable  from  the  necessity  of  making  sixpence  do 
the  Avork  of  a  shilling. 

But  now  all  was  changed.  She  had  as  much  money  as 
she  needed — enough  even  to  lay  by  a  little  (oh!  joyful 
economy!)  for  the  future  education  of  her  son. 

‘‘We  can  not  provide  for  him,”  she  had  said  to  her  hus¬ 
band,  “  but  we  can  give  him  a  good  education,  and  then  let 
him  work  for  himself.  It  is  the  best  thing  for  all  boys.  It 


54 


KING  ARTHUE. 


miglifc  have  been  better  for  Hal  (she  thought,  but  did  not 
say,  perhaps  also  for  HaFs  brother)  if  he  had  been  thrown 
upon  the  world  without  a  single  halfpennjc^^ 

So  when  she  saw  the  pretty  rectory  nestling  under  its 
acacia-tree  beside  the  lovely  old  church,  and  knew  there 
was  income  enough  to  live  there  comfortably,  she  yet  de¬ 
termined  to  waste  nothing:  to  expend  nothing  foolishly 
upon  outward  show,  or  in  keeping  up  a  position  — as  the 
owners  of  the  great  house  close  by  were  reported  to  have 
done  for  generations.  Gonsecuently,  the  Damerels  of  the 
last  generation  had  been  too  poor  to  occupy  their  splendid 
abode — or  even  to  come  back  to  It — except  to  be  buried. 
Their  vault  in  the  old  church  was  all  that  remained  to 
them,  in  spite  of  their  ancient  name,  and  an  estate  which 
had  belonged  to  them  for  centuries.  Her  boy,  Susannah 
often  thought,  blossoming  day  by  day  into  rosy  infancy — 
the  darling  of  his  good  Manette  and  his  devoted  “  mother 
— was  happier  than  the  neir  of  all  the  Damerels — a  poor 
idiot,  report  said,  never  seen  or  heard  of,  whose  family 
home  was  let,  and  the  property  put  into  Chanceiy,  until 
his  fortunate  death  cleared  the  way  for  some  distant  cousins, 
ready  to  fight  over  the  title  and  estate  like  dogs  over  a  bone. 

So  much  for  ‘  family  ’ — so  much  for  ^  fortune!^  medi¬ 
tated  Mrs.  Trevena;  and  was  almost  glad  that  she  herself 
was  the  last  of  her  race,  and  that  her  husband^s  only  rela¬ 
tion  was  Hal^ — safe  away  in  Australia.  “You  will  start  in 
life  all  free,  my  darling — as  free  as  if  you  had  dropped  from 
heaven  in  a  basket.  You  will  stand  on  your  own  feet,  and 
make  your  own  way  in  the  world,  with  nobody  to  hamper 
you,  and  torment  you — exce23t  your  mother!’^ 

And  she  kissed  with  a  passion  of  tenderness  the  baby 
eyes,  which  had  already  begun  to  develop  intelligence,  and 
the  sweet  baby  mouth,  so  smiling  and  content;  for  Arthur, 
like  most  healthy  and  carefully  reared  children,  was  an  ex¬ 
ceedingly  “  good  child — who  gave  little  trouble  to  any 
one.  Before  the  winter  was  over  he  had  learned  to  know 


KING  ARTHUK. 


55 


his  mother^s  step  and  voice,  to  laugh  when  she  entered 
the  nursery  and  to  cry  when  she  left  it.  Soon,  if  brought 
face  to  face  with  a  stranger,  he  would  turn  away,  clasp  his 
little  fat  arms  tight  round  her  neck  and  hide  his  face  on 
her  shoulder,  as  if  recognizing  already  that  she  was  no 
stranger,  but  his  natural  protector,  refuge,  and  consolation 
■ — his  mother,  in  short,  and  everything  that  a  mother  ought  ' 
to  be. 

For  his  father — well!  young  infants  scarcely  need  one; 
and  certainly  the  father  does  not  need  them — often  quite 
the  contrary.  But  it  rather  pleased  Mr.  Trevena  to  be 
called  ‘‘  papa  — as  they  decided  he  should  be;  and  now 
and  then,  when  he  met  Manette  walking  in  the  garden  with 
Arthur  in  her  arms,  he  would  stop  her,  and,  stroking  with 
one  finger  the  rosy  cheek,  remark  that  it  was  “  a  very  nice 
baby.^^  But  he  did  not  investigate  or  interfere  further. 
Even  had  it  been  his  own  child,  he  probably  would  have 
done  no  more.  A  baby  was  to  him  a  curious  natural  phe¬ 
nomenon,  which  he  regarded  with  ignorant  but  benevolent 
eyes,  much  as  he  did  the  chickens  in  his  farm-yard,  or  the 
little  pigs  in  his  sty;  but  taking  no  individual  interest  in 
them  whatever.  Not  until  the  spring  had  begun  and  the 
leaves  were  budding  and  the  primroses  springing  about 
Tawton  Magna,  making  it  truly  what  it  was  said  to  be,  the 
prettiest  rectory  in  all  Cornwall — did  Manette  report  that 
“  Monsieur  had  actually  kissed  “  ie  bede^^ — that  it  had 
crowed  to  him  and  pulled  ins  hair,  and  altogether  conduct¬ 
ed  itself  with  an  intelligence,  and  energy  worthy  of  nine  or 
even  ten  months  old. 

“  Is  it  really  nearly  a  year  since  we  were  in  Switzerland?^^ 
said  Mr.  Trevena  to  his  wiife,  as  she  joined  him  at  the 
gate;  she  always  went  his  parish  round  with  him,  and  did 
everything  for  him,  exactly  as  before  the  coming  of  little 
Arthur;  only  her  many  solitary  hours  were  solitary  now  no 
more.  But  to  her  husband  everything  was  made  so  perfectly 
the  same  that  he  often  forgot  the  very  existence  of  the  baby* 


56 


KING  ARTHUE. 


Arthur — that  is  his  name,  I  think — really  does  credit  to 
you,  my  dear — and  the  rectory  too.  It  must  be  a  very 
healthy  house,  for  I  never  saw  you  look  so  well.’’^ 

She  smiled.  They  loved  one  another  very  dearly — ^those 
two;  old  as  they  were — and  different  in  many  ways.  But 
difference  of  character  does  not  prevent  affection — rather 
increases  it  sometimes. 

“  All  the  village  tells  me  what  a  fine  child  Arthur  is — 
the  first  child,  by  the  bye,  that  has  been  in  the  rectory  for 
fifty  years.  My  predecessor,  as  you  know,  was  an  old  bach¬ 
elor.  Everybody  is  delighted  to  have  a  lady  in  the  village. 
You  and  your  boy  bid  fair  to  be  the  pets  of  the  parish,  Su¬ 
sannah,  my  dear.-’^ 

Which  was  true — and  not  unnatural.  For  her  motherly 
heart,  warmed  through  and  through  with  the  sunshine  of 
happiness,  opened  not  only  to  her  own,  but  to  every  child 
she  came  near;  to  every  poor  soul,  old  or  young,  that  want¬ 
ed  happiness  and  had  it  not.  Everybody  liked  her — every¬ 
body  praised  her;  and  husbands  are  always  proud  to  have 
their  wives  liked  and  praised.  The  rector  was  very  proud 
of  his  Susannah. 

They  strolled  peacefully  together  through  the  village,  ad¬ 
ministering  ghostly  counsel  and  advice;  together  with 
creatm’e  comforts  which  Mrs.  Tevena  held  to  be  equally 
desirable.  She  was  a  capital  clergyman's  wife — she  liked 
to  mother  everybody. 

As  usual,  their  walk  ended  in  the  church,  which  was 
open  for  its  Saturday  cleaning.  It  was  a  curious  old  build¬ 
ing — very  tumble-down,'’^  the  parish  thought,  but  was 
happily  too  poor  to  have  it  ‘‘  restored;’’  so  it  remained  for 
the  delight  of  archaeologists,  and  especially  of  Mr.  Trevena. 
He  never  wearied  of  examining  the  brasses,  the  old  monu¬ 
ments,  the  huge  worm-eaten,  curiously  carved  pews;  and 
especially  “  the  squire’s  pew,”  as  large  as  a  small  parlor, 
where  the  last  Damerels,  the  baronet  and  his  lady,  had 
been  accustomed  to  sit  in  two  huge  arm-chairs  over  the 


KING  ARTHUR. 


57 


bones  of  their  ancestors.  Their  own  bones  were  now  added 
to  the  rest;  and  the  tablet  describing  their  virtues,  with  a 
weeping  angel  on  each  side,  took  its  place  with  the  recum¬ 
bent  crusader,  and  the  well-ruffled  Elizabethan  knight,  with 
his  kneeling  progeny  behind  him. 

“  What  a  splendid  old  family  they  must  have  been!  Prob¬ 
ably  Norman — D^’Amiral  corrupted  into  Damerel.  AhP^ 
— and  he  laid  a  caressing  hand  on  the  head  of  the  noseless 
and  footless  crusader — “  it  is  a  great  thing  to  come  of  a 
good  race,  and  to  bear  an  honorable  name.'’^ 

Is  it?’^  said  Susannah  quietly,  and  thought  of  the 
poor  half-witted  boy — the  heir  whom  her  neighbors  had  told 
her  of,  and  then  of  her  own  boy — her  nameless  baby — full 
of  health  and  strength  and  intelligence,  yet  without  a  tie 
in  the  wide  world.  Only  he  was,  as  she  had  once  said, 

God^s  child  — and  hers. 

He  had  been  hers  for  nearly  two  years.  She  had  almost 
forgotten — and  everybody  else  too — that  he  was  not  really 
her  own;  even  the  rector  himself  was  taking  kindly  to  his 
paternity,  accepting  it  as  he  did  the  other  good  things 
which  had  dropped  into  his  mouth  without  liis  seeking — 
when  something  happened  which,  for  -the  time  being,  shook 
the  happy  little  household  to  its  very  foundations. 

Mrs.  Trevena,  one  bright  June  day,  had  put  on  her  bon¬ 
net  to  go  and  meet  her  child,  who  had  been  “  kidnapped 
as  they  called  it — by  the  large  kindly  plebeian  family,  one 
of  the  many  nouveaux  riches  that  conveniently  step  into  the 
shoes  of  aristocratic  poverty,  who  inhabited  Tawton  Ab¬ 
bas.  She  was  passing  through  the  church-yard  into  the 
park,  idly  thinking  how  beautiful  it  was,  how  bright  her 
life  here  had  grown,  and  what  had  she  done  to  deserve  it 
all — when  she  came  suddenly  face  to  face  with  a  strange 
gentleman,  who  was  apparently  wandering  about,  trying 
to  find  his  way  to  the  rectory.  He  was  well-dressed  and 
well-looking;  but  he  seemed  less  like  an  ordinary  visitor 
than  a  prowler.  Also,  though  rather  a  handsome  man. 


58 


KIKG  ARTHtlR. 


there  was  something  sinister  in  his  face;  he  was  one  of 
those  people  who  never  look  you  straight  in  the  eyes. 

He  stood  aside  as  the  lady  passed,  with  a  half- bow,  which 
she  acknowledged.  But  the  instant  she  had  passed  a  vague 
terror  seized  Susannah — the  one  little  cloud  which  secretly 
hung  over  her  entire  felicity — the  fear  that  her  treasure 
might  be  grudged  her,  or  snatched  from  her,  by  the  woman 
who  had  thrown  it  away?  She  had  taken  every  precaution 
to  leave  beliind  at  Andermatt  no  possible  clew;  even  ma- 
dame  at  the  hotel,  though  she  knew  the  names  Trevena 
and  Franklin,  knew  no  further  address  than  England 
and  “  America.'’^  Often  when  she  looked  at  her  bright, 
beautiful  boy,  a  spasm  of  fear  came  over  her,  so  that  she 
could  hardly  bear  to  let  him  out  of  her  sight. 

This  dread  took  hold  of  her  now.  What  if  the  stranger 
were  an  emissary  from  Arthur^s  unknown  mother — or  his 
father — the  “  fool  of  a  husband  — whom  she  had  so  de¬ 
spised?  At  the  bare  idea  Mrs.  Trevena^s  heart  almost 
stopped  beating.  But  it  was  not  her  way  to  fly  from  an 
evil;  she  preferred  to  meet  it — and  at  once.  She  turned 
back  and  spoke. 

‘^You  seem  a  stranger  here.  Can  I  do  anything  for 
you?^^ 

Thank  you — yes,  I  suppose  I  am  a  stranger.  I  have 
not  been  in  England  for  some  years. 

A  likeness  in  the  tones  of  the  voice — ^family  voices  often 
resemble  one  another  like  family  faces — startled  Susannah, 
and  yet  relieved  her.  She  was  almost  prepared  for  the 
“  stranger^s  next  words. 

“  I  am  told  that  this  is  the  village  of  Tawton  Magna, 
and  the  Eeverend  Austin  Trevena  is  rector  here?^^ 

‘‘Yes.^^ 

‘‘  Then  would  you  kindly  direct  me  to  the  rectory? 
am  Captain  Trevena,  his  brother.  ” 

Hal,  of  whom  they  had  heard  nothing  since  the  letter  re¬ 
ceived  at  Andermatt — Hal  come  back  from  Australia!  It 


KING  AKTHUK. 


59 


was  a  great  blow,  and  might  involve  much  perplexity;  but 
it  could  not  strike  her  to  the  heart,  as  the  other  blow  would 
have  done,  had  the  stranger  been  some  one  coming  to  claim 
her  child.  After  a  momentary  start  Susannah  was  herself 
again. 

Now,  it  so  happened  that  since  his  boyhood  she  had  never 
seen  her  brother-in-law;  who  evidently  did  not  remember 
her  at  all.  At  first  she  thought  she  would  accept  this  non¬ 
recognition  and  pass  on;  but  it  seemed  cowardly.  And  be¬ 
sides  she  would  soon  have  to  face  liim;  for  whatever  his 
sudden  appearance  might  bode,  she  was  quite  sure  it  boded 
no  good.  HaFs  fraternal  affection  always  lay  dormant- — 
unless  he  wanted  something. 

So,  looking  him  straight  in  the  eyes,  but  putting  out  no 
hand  of  welcome,  she  said,  briefiy,  ‘‘  I  am  Mrs.  Trevena. 
That  is  the  gate  of  the  rectory, and  walked  on  toward 
Tawton  Abbas. 

In  most  families  there  is  one  black  sheep — happy  if  only 
one!  for  the  well-being  of  the  whole  family  depends  upon 
its  treatment  of  the  same,  treatment  wise  or  unwise,  as 
may  happen.  Tew  black  sheep  are  wholly  black;  and  some 
may,  with  care  and  prudence,  be  kept  a  decent  gray;  but 
to  make  believe  they  are  snow-white,  and  allow  them  to 
run  among  the  harmless  fiock,  smirching  every  one  they 
come  near,  is  a  terrible  mistake.  Perhaps  Susannah  some¬ 
times  recognized,  with  as  much  bitterness  as  her  sweet 
nature  could  feel,  that  this  mistake  had  all  through  life 
been  made  by  her  husband. 

She  knew  Austin  was  at  home,  and  thought  it  best  the 
brothers  should  meet — since  they  must  meet — quite  alone; 
while  she  gathered  up  all  her  courage,  all  her  common 
sense,  to  face  the  position.  Captain  Trevena — as  he  called 
himself,  having  been  in  the  militia  once,  till  he  was  turned 
out — ^had  ngt  attempted  to  follow  her.  Perhaps  he  was 
afraid  of  her;  or  thought  he  had  good  need  to  be;  which 
was  true. 


60 


KIliTG  AETHUR. 


A  kind  of  superstitious  halo  has  been  thrown  round  the 
heads  of  prodigal  sons — doubtless  originating  in  the  divine 
parable,  or  the  human  corruption  of  it.  Only  people  for¬ 
get  how  that  prodigal  son,  saying,  I  will  arise,  really 
does  arise,  leaving  behind  him  his  riotous  living,  his  husks 
and  his  swine.  He  goes  to  his  father,  humbled  and  poor, 
and  his  father  welcomes  and  loves  him.  But  most  prodigal 
sons  bring  their  husks  and  their  swine  with  them,  nor  ever 
condescend  to -say,  “  I  have  sinned."’^  They  appear,  as  Hal 
Trevena  did,  as  he  had  always  been  in  the  habit  of  doing — • 
neither  hungry  nor  naked,  but  quite  cheerful  and  comfort¬ 
able.  They  may  cry  ‘‘  Peccavi,^^  but  it  never  occurs  to 
them  to  forsake  their  sins,  or  to  feel  any  more  penitence 
than  is  picturesque  and  convenient  to  show. 

This  had  been  Halbert  Trevena^s  character  for  the  last 
forty  years;  and  Susannah,  suddenly  meeting  him  after  a 
long  interval,  and  judging  him  by  feminine  instinct,  as 
well  as  by  the  bitter  experience  of  the  past,  did  not  think 
he  was  likely  to  be  altered  now. 

She  walked  rapidly  on  through  the  pleasant,  solitary 
park,  both  to  calm  her  mind,  and  to  consider  how  she  was 
to  face  this  emergency;  which  on  the  outside  appeared 
nothing  more  than  the  meeting — supposed  a  welcome  meet¬ 
ing — ^between  long  separated  brothers.  But,  underneath — 
she  knew,  only  too  well,  what  it  implied.  And  not  the 
least  of  the  difficulties  was  her  good,  tender-hearted  hus¬ 
band,  who,  absorbed  in  his  books,  never  looked  ahead  for  a 
single  week,  and  whose  own  nature  was  so  sweet  and  simple, 
that  he  could  not  imagine  the  contrary  in  any  human  being. 

Susannah  hastened  on  with  quick  i  roubled  steps,  till  she 
saw  Manette  and  little  Arthur  coming  down  the  path. 

“  Mammy,‘«nammy!'’^ — he  could  just  say  that  word  now, 
and  oh,  what  a  thrill  had  gone  through  her  heart  when  she 
first  heard  it!  Stretching  out  eager  arms,  .he  tried  to 
struggle  out  of  his  perambulator  and  get  to  her — Up, 
up!  in  mammy's  arms!" 


KIISTG  ARTHUR. 


61 


She  took  him  up  and  clasped  him  tight — her  one  bless¬ 
ing  that  was  all  her  own.  More  so  perhaps  than  if  he  had 
been  really  her  own,  and  had  to  call  Hal  Trevena  “  Uncle. 
As  the  thought  smote  her,  involuntarily  she  said  “  Thank 
God.  But  the  clinging  of  his  baby  arms,  the  kiss  of  his 
baby  mouth,  melted  the  bitterness  out  of  her  heart;  after  a 
few  minutes  she  felt  herself  able  to  return  to  the  house,  and 
meet  whatever  was  required  to  be  met  there.  The  sooner 
the  better,  for  who  could  tell  what  might  be  happening  in 
her  absence? 

She  found  the  two  brothers  sitting,  together  in  the  study, 
looking  as  comfortable  as  if  they  had  parted  only  yesterday. 
At  least  Hal  did;  but  Austin  had  a  troubled  air,  which  he 
tried  to  hide  under  an  exaggeration  of  ease.  When  his  wife 
opened  the  door  he  looked  up  with  great  relief. 

My  dear,  this  is.  Hal,  from  Australia.  You  must  re¬ 
member  Hal,  though  it  is  so  many  ears  since  you  saw 
him.^^ 

Twenty-four  years.  But  half  an  hour  age  he  asked 
me  to  direct  him  to  the  rectory.  He  was  not  aware,  I 
think,  that  he  was  speaking  to  the  mistress  of  the  house. 

And  she  sat  down,  still  without  offering  her  hand,  as  if 
to  make  clear  that  she  was  the  mistress  of  the  house,  and 
had  determined  to  assert  her  position. 

Captian  Trevena  was  a  shrewd  man,  a  good  deal  shrewder 
and  more  quick-sighted  than  his  brother;  he  too  saw  his 
position,  and  recognized  that  things  might  not  go  (|uite  so 
easily  with  him  as  when  the  Eeverend  Austin  was  a 
bachelor.  Still  he  smiled  and  bowed  in  bland  politeness: 

“  I  am  delighted  to  come  to  my  brother’s  home,  and  see 
it  adorned  with  a  wife.  I  only  wish  I  had  brought  mine 
here.  Mrs.  Trevena  (excuse  me,  but  as  the  eldest  son’s 
wife  she  has.  the  first  right)  is  a  very  handsome  person,  and 
our  eldest  son,  the  heir  to  the  Trevena  name,  takes  after 
her.  I  should  have  liked  you  to  see  them,  Austin;  but. 


62 


KIKG  ARTHUK. 


considering  all  things,  I  thought  it  best  to  leave  them  both 
in  Australia  for  the  present/^ 

Of  course — of  course/^  said  Mr.  Trevena.  Mrs. 
Trevena  said  nothing.  If  tor  a  second  a  natural  pang 
smote  her  heart,  it  was  healed  immediately.  Tor,  through 
the  window  she  could  see  a  pretty  vision  of  Manette^s  blue 
gown,  witli  two  little  fat  legs  trotting  after  it  along  the 
gravel  path.  She  turned  round,  smiling — she  could  afford 
to  smile. 

“  I  am  glad  you  are  happy  in  your  wife  and  son.  But 
why  leave  them?  What  call  had  you  to  England?^^ 

“  To  see  my  brother — was  it  not  natural?  An  old 
‘  Times  fell  into  my  hands,  in  which  I  read  what  (of 
course  by  some  mistake)  he  had  never  told  me — the  pres¬ 
entation  of  the  Eeverend  Austin  Trevena  to  the  living  of 
Tawton  Magna — value — I  forget  how  much.  So  I  thought 
I  would  come,  just  to — to  congratulate  him.^^ 

“  A  long  journey  for  so  small  an  object.  And  having 
accomplished  it,  I  suppose  you  will  return  ?^^ 

If  my  brother  wishes  it,  and  if  he  will  give  me  a  little 
brotherly  help.'’^ 

“  I  thought  so.'’^ 

Brief  as  this  conversation  was,  it  showed  to  both  the 
brother  and  sister-in-law  exactly  where  they  stood.  The 
big,  hearty,  well-dressed  man  looked  across  at  the  homely 
little  woman,  and  felt  that  times  were  changed;  it  was  war 
to  tbe  knife  between  them,  and  could  not  be  otherwise. 

Had  he  come  like  the  proverbial  prodigal,  in  rags  and 
repentance,  Susannah^s  heart  might  have  melted.  She 
might  have  killed  the  fatted  calf,  even  though  fearing  it 
was  in  vain:  she  might  have  put  the  ring  on  his  finger, 
tliough  with  a  strong  suspicion  that  he  would  pawn  it  the 
very  next  day.  But  now,  when  he  came,  fat  and  well¬ 
liking,  yet  with  tlie  same  never-ending  cry,  like  the 
daughters  of  the  horse-leech,  “  Give,  giveT^  she  felt  her¬ 
self  nardening  into  stone. 


KING  ARTHUR. 


63 


“  I  am  sorry,  but  your  brotlier^s  income,  of  which  you 
have  evidently  known  the  extent,  is  absorbed  by  his  own 
family  and  his  parish.  He  has  for  years  supplied  you  with 
so  much  that  he  can  not  possibly  d.o  any  more.  He  ought 
not.  ^ 

Ho,  Hal,^^  said  the  rector,  gathering  a  little  courage, 
and  taking  Susannah^s  hand  as  she  sat  beside  him,  indeed, 
I  ought  not.  You  know  I  was  telling  you  this  before  my 
wife  came  into  the  room.^^ 

‘‘  My  husband  is  right,^^  said  Susannah  firmly.  There¬ 
fore,  Captain  Trevena,  all  I  can  offer  you  is  a  night^s  hos¬ 
pitality.  After  that  we  had  better  part.^^ 

“  My  dear  sister,  why?’^ 

“  A  man  with  a  wife  and  child  has  no  business  to  leave 
them  and  go  wandering  about  the  world,  even  for  the  very 
desirable  purpose  of  begging  money  from  his  relations. 
He  had  better  stay  at  home  and  work. 

“  A  gentleman  work!^"’  Hal  laughed;  that  easy,  good- 
natured  laugh  which  made  people  think  him  to  charming. 

My  dear  lady,  it  is  out  of  the  nature  of  things — you  caiiT 
expect  it.  I  never  did  work — I  never  shall. 

I  believe  you.  The  only  thing  he  could  say,  Susannah 
might  have  added,  that  she  did  believe.  He  was  such  a 
confirmed  liar  that  she  began  to  think  even  the  wife  and 
child  might  be  mythical  creations,  invented  in  order  to 
play  upon  Austin  ^s  feelings. 

“  Hor,^^  he  continued  lightly,  ‘‘  is  there  any  special  rea¬ 
son  why  I  should  work.  My  wife  is  an  heiress — her  father 
made  his  fortune  at  the  gold-diggings.  The  old  fellow 
dotes  upon  her — even  more  than  upon  me.  He  likes  to 
keep  her  all  to  himself,  and  so  makes  it  easy  for  me  to  run 
away  and  amuse  myself.^'’ 

“  How  comes  it  then  that  you  want  money?’ ^ 

My  dear  Miss  Hyde  (beg  pardon,  but  I  heard  of  you  as 
Susannah  Hyde  for  so  many  ears  that  I  almost  forget  you 
are  anything  else  now),  a  gentleman  always  wants  money. 


64 


KING  AKTHUR. 


But  it  is  only  a  temporary  inconvenience.  I  sliall  be 
delighted  to  repay  Austin  every  farthing — with  interest  too, 
if  he  wishes  it — as  soon  as  ever  I  get  back  to  Australia. 

“  And  when  will  that  be?’"’ 

“  Cela  depend.  By  the  bye,  there  is  a  pi^tty  young 
tonne  upon  whom  I  was  airing  my  French  an  hour  ago  in 
the  road.  I  see  her  now  in  your  garden  with  her  ‘  tehed. 

Whose  child  is  thatr'^^ 

‘‘  Mine/’  said  Susannah  firmly. 

Yours?  I  thought  Austin  told  me  he  had  no  children.” 

Nor  have  we.  This  is  our  adopted  child.  We  found 
him,  and  we  mean  to  keep  him  and  bring  him  up  as  our 
son.  ” 

And  heir?  To  inherit  all  you  possess?” 

“  What  little  there  is  left — certainly.  ” 

‘‘  As  Susannah  spoke — slowly  and  resolutely — <laptain 
Tre vena’s  handsome  face  grew  dark;  his  bland  voice 
sharpened. 

“  Truly,  this  is  a  pretty  state  of  things  for  a  long-absent 
brother  to  come  home  to — a  sister-in-law,  not  too  affection¬ 
ate,  and  an  unexpected  nephew.  I  congratulate  you, 
Austin,  on  your  son.  Some  beggar’s  brat,  I  suppose, 
whom  your  wife  has  picked  up  in  the  street  and  made  a  pet 
of — like  a  stray  dog  or  half-starved  cat.  What  noble 
charity!” 

Not  charity  at  all^”  answered  Susannah,  seeing  that 
her  husband  left  her  to  answer,  as  was  his  habit  on  difficult 
occasions.  It  pleased  God  to  take  away  our  only  cliild; 
but  He  gave  us  this  one  instead.  And,  as  I  said,  we  mean 
to  keep  him.  If  we  bring  him  up  rightly,  he  will  be  the 
comfort  of  our  old  age.  ” 

“  Indeed?  But  meantime  a  child  is  a  rather  expensive 
luxury — ^too  expensive  to  make  it  possible  ever  to  help 
others — your  own  flesh  and  blood,  for  instance.  I  thought, 
Austin,  that  charity  began  at  home;  and  that  blood  was 
thicker  than  water?” 


KING  ARTHUE. 


65 


Poor  Austin!  he  regarded  his  brother  with  that  worried, 
badgered,  perplexed  look,  so  familiar  to  his  face  once,  but 
which  the  peace  of  later  years  had  almost  driven  away. 
Susannah  knew  it  well  enough;  it  brought  back  a  vision  of 
the  long  hopeless  time  of  their  engagement,  when  she  was 
passive  and  powerless.  But  she  was  neither  now.  It  was 
not  necessary— it  was  not  right. 

Halbert  Trevena,'’^  she  said,  quietly  enough,  but  with 
flashing  eyes  and  glowing  cheeks,  how  dare  you,  who 
have  been  a  drain  upon  your  brother  all  his  life — a  per¬ 
petual  thorn  in  his  side  and  grief  in  his  heart— how  dare  you 
talk  of  blood  being  thicker  than  water 

Susannah — my  dear  Susannah,  be  patient!^^  said  the 
rector  in  a  deprecating  tone.  “You  see,  Hal,  we  don^t 
want  to  be  hard  upon  you;  but  really,  you  seem  so  well  off, 
and  your  wife,  you  say,  is  an  heiress.  We,  now,  Susannah 
and  I,  can  only  just  make  ends  meet,  I  assure  you.'’^ 

He  spoke  meekly  —  almost  apologetically.  But  with 
Susannah  the  day  of  meekness  was  past.  “  Captain  Tre- 
vena,  it  is  best  to  be  plain  with  you.  I  am  mistress  of  this 
house.  I  will  give  you  a  night ^s  lodging,  but  nothing 
more.  With  my  consent,  my  husband  shall  not  waste  upon 
you  a  single  halfpenny.  What  money  he  has  left,  that  you 
have  not  robbed  him  of,  he  may  leave  you  by  will;  but 
while  he  lives  his  income  is  not  yours — it  is  mine."’^ 

Sternly  as  it  was  spoken,  this  was  the  truth  of  the  case, 
both  in  law  and  equity,  and  both  brothers  knew  it.  The 
cunning  one  shrugged  his  shoulders — the  weak  one  sighed; 
but  neither  attempted  to  controvert  it. 

Of  course,^'’  said  Austin  at  last,  “  one^s  wife  is  nearer 
than  oner’s  brother;  and  Susannah  never  speaks  without 
having  well  considered  everything.'’^ 

“  Excellent  wife!  Admirable  marriage  laws!’^  said  Hal, 
tapping  his  boot  with  his  cane— a  very  handsome  silver- 
mounted  cane.  In  fact,  all  the  attire  of  this  poor  prodigal 
was  of  the  most  expensive  kind.  “  ^  What^s  thine  is 

3 


6G 


KING  ARTHUR. 


mine,  and  what^s  mine  is  my  own  is  a  well-known  saying. 
But  I  always  thought,  Austin,  that  this  rule  applied  to  us, 
and  not  to  the  ladies.  However,  tempora  mutant  mores — 
especially  family  manners.  Perhaps  I  had  better  go.  ‘  It 
may  be  for  years  and  it  may  be  forever!^  as  the  song  says. 
Well — good-bye,  Austin.-’^ 

Susannah '’s  heart  softened — her  husband  looked  so  very 
unhappy.  After  all,  Hal  was  his  brother.  They  had  been 
boys  together;  and  there  was  still  between  them  that  ex¬ 
ternal  family  likeness,  not  incompatible  with  the  greatest 
unlikeness  internally.  The  law  of  .  heredity  has  freaks  so 
strange  that  sometimes  one  almost  doubts' its  existence;  yet 
it  does  exist,  though  abounding  in  mysteries  capable  of 
great  modification;  and  above  all,  full  of  the  most  solemn 
mdividual  warnings. 

‘‘  I  think  you  should  go,"’"’  said  Mrs.  Trevena;  but  go 
to-morrow,  not  to-day.  Your  ways  are  so  different  from 
ours,  that  we  are  better  apart;  still,  do  not  let  us  part  un¬ 
kindly.  And  carry  back  our  good  wishes  to  your  wife  and 

I 

child.  May  you  live  a  happy  life  with  them,  and  make 
them  happy!  It  is  not  too  late."’^ 

For  a  minute,  perhaps,  this  man,  who  had  never  made 
any  human  being  aught  but  miserable  in  all  his  days,  felt  a 
twinge  of  regret;  the  wing  of  the  passing  angel  touched  his 
heart — if  he  had  one.  He  scanned  his  sister-in-law,  half  in 
earnest,  and  then  the  light  sarcastic  laugh  returned.  The 
good  angel  was  gone. 

Oh,  dear,  no!  Hot  too  late  at  all.  I  am  the  most 
domestic  man  alive.  I  adore  my  home — when  I  am  at 
home.  And  my  wife — when  I  can  get  her.  But  as  I  said, 
she  has  such  a  devoted  papa — a  millionaire — that  I  rarely 
can  get  her.  You  see,  Austin?^'’ 

Austin  did  not  see,  but  his  wife  did,  and  turned  away; 
remembering  bitterly  that  hopeless  proverb  about  the  silk 
purse  and  the  sow^s  ear;  and  thinking  with  a  vague  pity 


KING  ARTHUR.  67 

of  her  unknown  sister-in-law — the  mother  who  had  a  son 
of  her  very  own. 

But  before  she  had  time  to  speak  came  the  pattering  of 
little  feet  outside,  and  the  battering  of  tiny  hands  against 
the  study  door. 

‘‘I  will  leave  you  now,^^  said  Mrs.  Trevena,  rising. 

You  and  Austin  will  like  a  chat  together.  We  dine  at 
two — our  early  dinner;  we  are  homely  people — as  you  see. 

But  most  delightful!  I  think  I  never  saw  such  a 
picturesque  house;  or^^ — as  the  door  flew  open  and  dis¬ 
closed King  Arthur  standing  there — a  veritable  little 
king — with  his  rosy  cheeks,  his  cloud  of  curly  hair,  and  his 
sturdy  healthy  frame — “  or  a  more  attractive  child.  Come 
in,  sir!  Let  me  see  the  young  interloper. 

And  Hal  made  as  though  he  would  take  him  in  his  arms, 
but  Susannah  sprung  forward  and  took  him  in  hers;  from 
which  safe  vantage-ground  the  child  looked  out,  facing  the 
man  with  his  honest  baby  eyes. 

Children  have  strange  instincts  —  are  often  wonderful 
judges  of  character.  Allure  as  Hal  might,  and  did,  noth¬ 
ing  would  induce  little  Arthur  to  kiss  him,  or  even  let  him¬ 
self  be  touched  by  him.  The  pretty  under  lip  began  to 
fall;  he  clung  to  his  mother,  and  would  shortly  have  burst 
into  an  open  cry,  had  not  Susannah  carried  him  away — as 
she  wisely  did — at  all  times  when  his  angelhood  melted  into 
common  babyhood.  As  she  did  so,  she  caught  the  expres¬ 
sion  of  her  brother-in -la  w^s  eyes,  which  made  her  clasp  her 
little  one  all  the  closer.  ‘‘  King  Arthur — ^born  amongst 
foes,  having  to  be  protected  from  his  own  mother,  and  from 
all  his  unknown  kin — would,  she  perceived,  have  to  be  pro¬ 
tected  against  one  enemy  more. 

Glad  as  she  was  to  escape,  she  knew  she  must  not  be  ab¬ 
sent  long:  she  dared  not.  If  ever  man  combined  the  ser¬ 
pent  with  the  dove — the  smoothest,  most  dainty  feathered, 
and  low-voiced  of  doves — it  was  Halbert  Trevena.  Many  a 
time  in  old  days  he  had  wound  his  brother  round  his  little 


68 


KlI^G  AKTHUE. 


finger;  flattered  Mm — cajoled  Mm — and  finally  fleeced  him 
out  of  every  halfpenny  he  had.  All  right,  of  course :  for 
were  they  not  brothers?  And  have  not  a  man^s  own  family 
the  first  claim  upon  him,  no  matter  whether  they  deserve  it 
or  not?  So  reason  many  excellent  and  virtuous  folk.  Are 
they  right — or  wrong? 

Poor  Austin!^'’  the  wife  muttered,  in  pity  rather  than 
in  anger,  as  she  thought  of  the  two  closeted  together,  and 
what  harm  might  possibly  ensue.  And  then  Arthur  came 
with  his  entreating  “  Up — up!”  and  the  clinging  of  his  in¬ 
nocent  arms. 

My  darling!”  cried  Susannah, ’almost  sobbing.  No 
— blood  is  not  thicker  than  water — unless  love  goes  with  it, 
and  respect,  and  honor.  My  boy — my  own  boy!”  she  put 
back  the  curls  and  looked  straight  down  into  the  pure, 
cloudless,  infant  eyes.  Be  a  good  boy — grow  up  a  good 
man — and  no  one  will  ever  ask  how  you  were  born.^^ 

She  allowed  herself  a  brief  rest  in  giving  Arthur  his  din¬ 
ner,  and  smiled  to  see  how  before  he  eat  a  moutMul  himself 
he  insisted  on  feeding  the  dog  and  the  cat,  and  even  offered 
a  morsel  to  the  woolly  lamb — his  pet  play thmg,  which  always 
stood  on  the' table  beside  him.  “  The  boy  is  father  to  the 
man;”  and  Susannah  had  already  detected  in  her  baby 
many  a  trait  of  character  which  all  the  education  in  the 
world  could  never  have  put  into  him.  Even  at  two  years 
old  there  was  a  natural  courtesy  about  King  ”  Arthur; 
an  instinct  of  tenderness  to  all  helpless  things.  And 
Susannah  was  far-sighted  enough  to  be  soothed  and  cheered. 
The  dread,  which  every  mother  must  have  with  every  child, 
lest  it  should  not  grow  up  as  she  could  wish,  was  in  her 
case  doubled  and  trebled;  for  of  necessity  she  was  ever  on 
the  watcb  for  hereditary  qualities,  mental  and  physical, 
which  must  be  modified  and  guarded  against.  And  yet, 
perhaps,  this  battle  with  unknown  evils  was  not  worse  than 
the  pang  which  some  parents  must  feel,  to  see  their  own  or 
others^  faults  reappearing  in  their  child. 


V 


KING  AETHUR.  69 

“  If  1  were  Mrs.  Halbert  Trevena — and  my  son  grew  up 
like  liis  father thought  Susannah^  with  a  shudder;  and 
almost  thanked  God  that  her  child  was  not  her  own — or  he 
might  have  been  like  his  uncle. 

But  little  Arthur — blessed  child! — feared  no  future  and 
no  past.  He  was  perfectly  happy  in  his  sunshiny  nurseiy 
• — the  room  in  which  the  late  rector  had  died,  after  inhab¬ 
iting  it  for  fifty  years,  and  which  the  servants  had  been  half 
afraid  of,  till  the  baby-voice  exorcised  all  ghosts.  There 
the  little  King  reigned  supreme,  with  his  two  dumb 
companions.  They  lived  in  mysterious  but  perfect  har¬ 
mony — dog,  cat,  and  child.  They  played  together,  fed  to¬ 
gether,  slept  together,  for  often  Susannah  would  come  in 
and  find  Arthur  lying  in  the  rug  with  his  head  on  the  dog's 
neck  and  the  cat  in  his  arms — all  three  sound  asleep. 

It  was  always  hard  to  tear  herself  from  that  pleasant 
room;  where  two  years  of  firm  control  and  careful  love  had 
made  a  naturally  healthy  and  sweet-tempered  baby  into  a 
thoroughly  good  child;  so  that  his  mother  and  Manette  had 
rarely  any  trouble  with  him,  beyond  the  ordinary  little 
vagaries  .of  childhood — the  worst  being  a  tendency  to  cry 
after  “  Mammy,"  whenever  he  saw  her  preparing  to  leave 
him — as  now. 

“  Mammy  must  go — she  must  have  her  dinner,  my  boy; 
but  she  will  come  back  directly  afterward.  She  promises!" 

Already  the  infant  mind  had  taken  in  the  fact  that 

Mammy's  "  promises  were  always  to  be  relied  on — that 
mammy  meant  what  she  said — and  did  it.  And  though  he 
still  could  not  talk  much,  Arthur  understood  every  word 
she  said,  and  obeyed  it  too;  for  absolute  obedience  was  the 
first  lesson  Susannah  had  taught  her  child.  The  little  face 
cleared,  the  detaining  arms  relaxed;  he  toddled  back  to  his 
four-footed  friends,  and  made  himself  quite  happy.  No 
sorrow  lasts  long  at  two  years  old. 

But  Mrs.  Trevena,  the  instant  she  shut  the  nursery  door, 
felt  her  cares  leap  back  upon  her  with  double  fierceness. 


i 


70 


KIKG  AKTHUE. 


As  she  arranged  her  dress  at  the  glass,  she  thought  of  that 
‘‘  very  handsome  person  — her  sister-in-law,  not  in  envy, 
but  in  pity;  wondering  what  was  the  real  truth  about  her 
and  about  the  marriage;  for  all  Hahs  statements  had  to  be 
guessed  at  rather  than  believed.  He  had  never  held  facts 
in  the  least  degree  necessary. 

She  iooked  out  into  the  garden,  expecting  to  see  the 
brothers  sauntering  round  it,  for  the  rector  was  always 
proud  to  show  his  garden.  Well  he  might  be:  for  it  was  a 
perfect  picture,  with  its  green  lawn  in  front,  its  back¬ 
ground  of  stately  trees,  and  its  kitchen-garden  at  the  side 
— a  regular  old  English  kitchen-garden,^  where  flowers,  fruit, 
and  vegetables  all  flourished  together.  Polyanthus  and 
auriculas  edged  the  beds  where  the  young  pease  were  rising 
in  green  rows,  and  the  high  south  wall,  sheltered  and  sunny, 
was  one  mass  of  peach,  apricot,  and  nectarine  blossoms. 
But  nobody  admired  them  —  the  garden  was  deserted. 
Susannah  went  straight  to  the  study,  and  there  found  her 
husband — alone. 

“  Hal  has  just  gone  out,  but  he  will  be  back  to  dinner; 
unless,  as  he  says,  he  flnds  ‘  metal  more  attractive.  ’  Which 
is  not  likely,  as  he  knows  nobody  in  these  parts.  He  came 
direct  from  London,  and  must  go  back  again  there — im¬ 
mediately. 

Mr.  Trevena  spoke  lightly,  but  with  a  certain  depreca¬ 
tion  of  manner,  which  attracted  his  wife^s  notice. 

Immediately  means  to-morrow,  I  suppose?’^ 

“  Or  perhaps  to-night.  Poor  Hal!  He  is  very  poor,  my 
dear.  We  ought  to  be  kind  to  him. 

I  wish  to  be  kind  to  him — if  he  deserves  it. 

‘‘  He  may  do  so.  It  is  never  too  late  to  mend.  And, 
my  Susannah — ^you  remember  the  command,  ‘  seventy  times 
seven. 

Susannah,  feeling  almost  like  a  wretch — a  hard-hearted, 
unchristian  wretch — clasped  the  long-beloved  hand,  gener- 


I 


KING  AKTHtJK.  71 

Ons  as  a  child^s— and  often  as  unwise  in  its  generosity.  But 
tliat  instant  something  aroused  her  suspicions. 

Why  is  your  desk  open^  Austin?  Shall  I  lock  it  for 
you?  Your  check-book  is  in  it? 

‘‘  Stop  a  minute,  dear.  That  check-book — Hal  really 
had  not  a  halfpenny,  though  his  remittances  from  Australia 
are  due  next  week.  He  will  repay  me — I  am  sure  he  will; 
so  I  gave  him  a  small  sum — you  wonT  mind,  dear?  It  was 
very  little.'’^ 

How  much? : 

Only  twenty  pounds. 

“  Twenty-five  pounds  was  all  we  had  in  the  bank;  and  it 
will  be  six  weeks  before  our  next  dividends  are  due. 

This  was  all  Susannah  said — what  good  was  it  to  say  any- 
tliing  more?  But  she  dropped  her  husband^ s  hand  and  sat 
down,  in  passive  acquiescence  to  fate.  The  old  thing  all 
over  again!  the  same  quiet  endurance,  but  none  the  less 
the  same  bitter,  resentful  pain.  All  the  bitterer  that  there 
was  nothing  actually  to  resent.  Austin^’s  invariable  sweet¬ 
ness — his  unbomided  love  for  her — his  trust  in  her,  almost 
as  implicit  as  a  child^s — she  could  not  be  angry  with  him. 

I  am  so  sorry,  my  dear, said  he  penitently,  ‘‘but  I 
had  no  idea  of  the  state  of  our  finances.  As  Hal  says — it 
is  you  who  manage  everything.  I  will  ask  him  to  take  a 
smaller  check — say  just  five  pounds — when  he  comes  back 
again. 

“  When  he  comes  back  again  repeated  Susannah  bit¬ 
terly.  “  He  will  not  come  back.-’^ 

Nor  did  he.  They  waited  dinner — ^lialf  an  hour — an  hour 
— Austin  was  so  certain  that  his  brother  had  ‘  ‘  turned  over 
a  new  leaf  — except,  perhaps,  in  punctuality  at  meals. 
They  then  sent  down  to  the  village  in  search  of  “  the  gen¬ 
tleman  who  had  been  at  the  rectory;^^  not  saying  “  the 
rector ^s  brother,  lest  he  might  be  found  at  the  public- 
house — though  that  was  ui:^hkely,  drink  not  being  one  of 
HaTs  besetting  sins.  But  they  found  him  nowhere.  He 


72 


KIl^G  AETHUR. 


had  vanished — probably  by  some  field-path,  to  the  nearest 
railway  station — with  the  check  in  his  pocket,  and  nothing 
more  was  heard  of  him  for  years. 


CHAPTEE  IV. 

Happy  is  the  nation  which  has  no  history/’  and  happy 
is  the  family  without  any  startling  incidents  to  break  the 
smooth  current  of  its  uneventful  years. 

Such,  for  a  long  time,  was  the  lot  of  the  little  family  at 
the  rectory — really  a  family  now — father,  mother  and 
child.  And  the  child  brought  hope  with  it — hope  and  in¬ 
terest  and  joy  in  life.  Sometimes  Susannah,  looking  back 
upon  old  days,  especially  the  dark  days  after  her  little  baby 
died,  wondered  how  she  could  have  borne  them. 

She  had  an '  easier  life  now  in  many  ways  than  she  had 
ever  known.  Of  money — alas!  how  the  lack  of  it,  or  the 
wrong  use  of  it,  strikes  at  the  very  root  of  family  peace ! 

■ — of  money  there  was  enough,  though  notliing  to  spare,  for 
with  a  larger  income  came  heavier  claims,  as  must  always 
be  the  case  with  a  clergyman.  Still,  the  sharp  struggle  of 
poverty  was  over  forever  with  Austin  and  Susannah:  and 
they  soon  grew  to  love  dearly  the  pretty  rectory,  and  sirtiple 
country  parish,  which  had  been  to  them  a  refuge,  though 
late,  from  the  storms  of  life,  and  where  they  were  content  to 
lie  at  anchor  for  the  rest  of  their  days. 

Of  course,  no  human  lives  can  be  quite  free  from  cares, 
and  they  had  theirs;  but  in  most  lives,  if  we  investigate 
them,  far  fewer  troubles  come  from  without  than  from 
within;  and  the  Trevenas  had  known  enough  of  real  sor¬ 
rows  never  to  invent  for  themselves  imaginary  or  unneces¬ 
sary  ones.  They  were  glad  of  happiness,  and  made  the 
most  of  it  whenever  it  came. 

For  days,  weeks,  months,  Austin  expected  his  brother’s 
reappearance  with  a  nervous  anxiety — a  mingled  hope  and 


KmG  ARTHUR. 


73 


fear  that  was  trying  enough  to  his  wife.  But  Hal  never  did 
reappear,  or  make  any  sign  of  existence.  Austin  ^s  hope  and 
Susannah’s  fear— a  double  fear  now,  since  that  truly 

wicked  ”  look  which  she  had  caught  directed  against  her 
child — gradually  subsided. 

Also  another  unspoken  dread,  which  when  Arthur  grew 
up  from  ‘^the  beautifullest  baby  that  ever  was  seen,” 
whom  all  the  village  was  proud  of,  into  a  really  splendid 
boy,  began  to  dawn  upon  his  adopted  mother.  What  if 
his  real  mother  should  by  and  by  crave  after  the  treasure 
she  had  thrown  away,  and  institute  a  search  for  him?  Sup¬ 
pose  she,  or  her  emissaries,  should  find  him,  lie  in  wait  for 
him,  perhaps  steal  him — one  or  two  stories  of  kidnapped 
children  were  in  the  newspapers  just  then,  of  which  she 
read  every  line  with  a  thrill  of  sympathetic  anguish. 

And  once,  when  Manette  and  Arthur  were  missing  for 
three  hours,  having  contrived  to  lose  themselves  in  a  prim¬ 
rose  wood,  they  came  back,  hungry  and  happy.  Men  with 
primroses,  to  find  Mrs.  Trevena  white  as  death,  sitting  on  a 
gravestone  in  the  church-yard,having  walked  miles  and  miles 
in  every  direction  in  search  of  her  child.  She  clasped  him  to 
her  heart  in  such  a  passion  of  love  and  tears  that  Mr.  Tre¬ 
vena,  who  came  out  for  his  evening  stroll  just  in  time  to 
see  the  happy  denouement  of  this  temporary  tragedy,  was 
quite  perplexed. 

My  dear,  it  all  comes  from  your  vivid  imagination. 
Don’t  sup  sorrow  with  a  long  spoon.  He  is  a  dear  child, 
I  own  thatj”  and  the  rector  patted  kindly  the  curly  head 
which  nestled  on  his  wife’s  shoulder.  But  1  don’t  think 
anybody  is  likely  to  steal  him.  Babies  are  as  plentiful  as 
blackberries,  and  you  must  remember,  Susannah,  that  every¬ 
body  does  not  consider  him  as  valuable  as  you  do.” 

She  laughed,  confessing  she  had  been  very  silly.  ”  But 
for  weeks  she  scarcely  let  Arthur  out  of  her  sight;  and  Ma¬ 
nette  had  strict  orders  never  to  go  beyond  the  garden,  the 
village,  and  the  path  leading  to  the  great  house,  and  on 


74 


KING  ARTHUK. 


no  account  to  answer  any  one  she  met  who  might  question 
her  about  the  boy. 

This  was  literally  the  only  event  of  the  first  six  years  of 
Arthur^s  life — the  six  happy  infantine  years,  all  pleasant¬ 
ness  and  play,  with  no  lessons  to  learn,  for  he  was  not  a 
precocious  child,  and  his  mother  preferred  physical  to  men¬ 
tal  development.  His  education  had  begun  indeed,  as  it 
can  begin  with  every  child,  and  should,  even  at  six  months 
old;  but  it  was  the  unconscious  education,  imbibed  daily 
and  hourly  from  everything  around  him. 

By  and  by,  life  became  to  little  Arthur  a  perpetual  quesh 
tion,  which  he  always  expected  his  mother  to  answer.  She 
did  answer,  taking  unwearied  trouble  to  satisfy  the  opening 
mind  and  heart,  never  throwing  the  child  back  upon  him¬ 
self,  or  stifling  his  natural  curiosity  about  the  wonderful 
world  he  had  come  to.  But  sometimes  she  found  herself 
fairly  puzzled  and  obliged  to  own,  frankly  and  humbly,  ‘‘  I 
donTknow,^'’  upon  which  he  once  turned  upon  her  with 
the  grave  answer,  But,  mammy,  you  ought  to  know. A 
rebuke  that  made  her  study  the  question — something  about 
a  steam-engine — and  tell  him  all  about  it  next  day. 

Dr.  Franklin^ s  saying,  when  they  were  discussing  the 
future  of  her  baby,  “  I  donT  know  whether  you  will  edu¬ 
cate  him,  but  I  am  quite  certain  he  will  educate  you," ^  came 
back  upon  her  often  as  an  amusing  truth.  She  knew  her¬ 
self  to  be  a  better  woman,  and  certainly  her  husband  was 
no  worse  man,  nor  a  less  happy  man,  for  having  that  bit  of 
continual  sunshine,  a  child  in  the  house.'’ ^ 

wish  Doctor  Franklin  could  see  us,^’  she  often 
thought  and  said.  But  the  worthy  Kentuckian  seemed  to 
have  melted  away  into  thin  air.  For  two  or  three  years 
they  got  a  letter  from  him,  generally  about  the  time  of  his 
godson^s  birthday,  hoping  the  little  fellow  was  quite  well, 
and  doing  credit  to  his  adopted  family;  but  the  letters  were 
brief  and  formal;  the  doctor  was  a  practical  man,  and  no 
great  scribe.  It  scarcely  surprised  the  Trevenas  when. 


KING  ARTHUR.  75 

after  awhile,  his  letters  ceased,  and  theirs  gained  no  an¬ 
swer. 

Perhaps  he  is  dead,^’  Susannah  thought,  sadly,  and 
my  boy  has  one  friend  less  in  the  world. 

Arthur  had  no  lack  of  friends  now,  at  any  rate.  He  was 
a  most  popular  little  person.  Everybody  spoiled  him; 
except  that  love  never  spoils.  It  is  the  alternation  of  harsh¬ 
ness  and  weak  indulgence  which  ruins  many  a  poor,  help¬ 
less  child,  who  is  made  detestable  to  everybody  not  through 
its  own  fault,  but  the  fault  of  its  relations. 

With  “  King  Arthur  it  was  not  so.  His  mother^s 
tender  hand  knew  how  to  hold  the  reins  firmly.  Her  yea 
was  yea — ^her  nay,  nay;  and  the  child  soon  found  it  out. 
His  will — and  he  had  a  pretty  strong  one,  poor  little  man ! 
— was  early  taught  that  it  must  be  used,  not  to  govern  oth¬ 
ers,  but  himself.  Consequently,  though  impetuous,  pas¬ 
sionate,  and  full  of  boyish  mischief  and  fun,  he  was  neither 
a  naughty  nor  a  disagreeable  child.  From  the  ‘‘bigP 
house,  with  its  constantly  changing  tenants,  down  to  every 
cottage  in  the  parish,  everybody  made  a  pet  of  King 
Arthur. 

So  did  his  “  papa,^^  when  the  boy  grew  old  enough  to  be 
interesting.  Perhaps,  under  no  circumstances  would  Mr. 
Trevena  have  been  a  model  father;  he  was  too  self-ab¬ 
sorbed,  too  much  of  the  student,  and  it  was  by  a  curious 
natural  instinct  that  Arthur  always  called  him  papa,^-’ 
and  Mrs.  Trevena  “  mother.  But  he  was  very  fond  of 
the  little  fellow,  who  always  amused  and  never  troubled 
him,  as  ordinary  papas  are  troubled  by  their  offspring.  And 
his  kindness,  his  invariable  sweet  temper,  and  even  his  little 
oddities,  attached  the  child  to  him  almost  as  much  as  if  ho 
had  been  really  his  own.  For  to  the  young  the  ‘  ‘  tie  of 
blood  means  nothing;  and  kindness,  tenderness,  the  habit 
of  propinquity,  everything.  A  child  often  loves  its  nurse 
far  better  than  its  mother — an  unheeding,  unloving  mother; 
and  many  parents  and  children,  separated  of  necessity  for 


7(5 


KING  ARTHUR. 


years,  have  felt  bitterly  that  with  all  their  efforts  it  was  ab¬ 
solutely  impossible  to  reunite  the  broken  bond. 

But  Arthur  and  his  adopted  parents  lived  so  happily  to¬ 
gether,  that  everybody  outside  seemed  to  have  forgotten  he 
was  not  their  own;  and  indeed  they  almost  forgot  it  them¬ 
selves,  till  something  happened  which  startled  Susannah 
into  uneasy  previsions.  Long  after  it  was  past,  she,  like 
another  holy  mother,  ‘‘pondered  these  things  in  her 
heart, ^  and  thanked  God  she  had  had  strength  to  meet  the 
difficulty;  to  face  the  first  of  many  inevitable  ills,  and  to 
face  it  in  time. 

Arthur  came  in  to  her,  one  day,  with  his  poor  little  nose 
bleeding,  and  his  whole  frame  quivering  with  passion  and 
excitement.  He  had  been  playing  in  the  garden  with  die 
gardener ^s  boy,  not  a  had  boy  in  his  way;  and  at  six  years 
old  Mrs.  Trevena  held  class  distinctions  unnecessary;  but 
there  had  evidently  been  some  fracas  between  the  children. 

“  My  noy — how  could  Bob  let  you  hurt  yourself?  He 
was  the  eldest;  he  ought  to  have  taken  care  of  you. 

“He  shall  never  take  care  of  me  again.  I  hate  Bob! 
And  I  didn’t  hurt  myself.  We  were  fighting.  But  I’ve 
hurt  him  twice  as  much  as  he  hurt  me.” 

And  the  little  fists  were  clinched,  and  the  chest  heaved 
with  rage.  The  “  devil  ”  was  roused  in  the  heretofore 
“  angel-boy  ” — as  from  his  sweet  looks  some  of  the  villa¬ 
gers  called  him. 

“  You  fought?  Who  began  it?”  said  the  mother  gravely. 

“  I  did.  Bob  told  a  lie,  and  I  hit  him.  ITl  hit  him 
again  to-morrow.  “ 

“  Hush!”  said  Mrs.  Trevena,  but  wisely  abstained  from 
any  moral  lectures  till  she  had  soothed  her  boy’s  physical 
sufferings;  and  he  lay  in  her  arms,  pale  and  exhausted, 
angry  but  quiet,  and  quite  “  good,”  with  that  air  of  entire 
content  which  a  child  of  his  age  finds  nowhere  if  not  on  the 
mother’s  bosom. 


KIKG  AKTHUR. 


77 

Now,  my  darling/^  she  whispered,  tell  me  all  about 
iV’ 

But  Arthur  turned  his  head  away,  with  the  deep  blush 
of  sensitive  childhood. 

“  Fd  rather  not  tell  you,  please,  mammy. 

She  would  not  compel  him — it  is  right  to  respect  even  a 
babyisl^  secret;  but  she  urged  tenderly,  “  Don^t  you  think 
you  would  be  happier  if  you  told  mer'’^  And  then  it  all 
came  out. 

Bob  said  what  was  not  true.  He  told  me  my  papa  was 
not  my  papa,  and  that  my  mammy,  my  own  mammy,  was 
not  my  mother.  And  hiding  his  face  on  her  shoulder, 
Arthur  once  more  burst  into  a  passion  of  sobs. 

Susannah  felt  as  if  an  arrow  had  gone  through  her  heart. 
Often  and  often  had  she  considered  rhis  question,  and  de¬ 
cided  that  as  soon  as  ever  he  could  take  it  in,  Arthur  must 
be  told  the  whole  truth  concerning  himself.  But  the  diffi¬ 
culty — the  almost  impossibility — of  making  so  young  a  child 
comprehend  any  dilference  between  adopted  and  real 
parenthood  had  caused  her  to  defer  this  explanation  from 
time  to  time,  till  some  opportune  moment  should  come.  It 
had  come.  There  was  a  brief  pause  of  cowardly  shrinking, 
and  then  she  braced  herself  and  seized  the  chance,  which 
to  let  go  by  might  be  fatal.  Perfect  truthfulness,  she  had 
all  along  felt,  would  be  the  only  safe  as  well  as  the  only 
right  course — for  her  darling ^s  sake. 

“  My  boy,^^  she  said,  “  I  am  sorry  you  fought — ^because 
what  Bob  said  tvas  true. 

Arthur  opened  wide  eyes  of  incredulous  terror.  No — 
no!  Mammy,  I  am  your  child— I  am  your  child. 

Yes,  my  darling — my  only  darling!'  but  not  my  born 
child — ^you  are  my  adopted  child. 

What  does  that  meanr^’ 

My  chosen  child.  Nobody  cared  for  you  or  loved'  you 
.  ■ — ^but  mammy  loved  you,  mammy  chose  you.  Listen,  and 
ITl  tell  my  boy  a  little  story. 


78 


KING  ARTHtJll. 


It  was  the  quite  true  story  of  her  finding  the  bit  of 
sweetwilliam,  and  how  she  planted  it,  and  watered  it,  and 
watched  it  grow  into  a  beautiful  root,  till  she  loved  it  bet¬ 
ter  than  any  root  in  her  garden. 

“‘As  mammy  loves  me,^^  said  the  boy,  brightening  up 
and  taking  it  all  in,  as  he  did  any  story,  with  delighted 
eagerness.  “  And  mammy  chose  it — as  she  did  me.  Then 
I  am  mammy^s  own  child  after  all.  * 

“  Always — always!^^  and  she  strained  him  to  her  heart — 
the  unmistakable  mother  ^s  heart,  where  he  rested,  satisfied. 
Childless  mother — motherless  child!  Surely,  He  who  said 
to  John,  “Son,  behold  thy  mother,  and  to  Mary,  “  Mother, 
behold  thy  Son,”  often  gives  a  special  consecration  to  such 
relationships.  It  might  be  better  for  many  a  lonely  house¬ 
hold,  many  a  forlorn  child,  if  there  were  more  of  the  like. 

Determined  not  to  let  the  golden  moment  pass  by,  but  to 
seize  this  c^iance  of  making  things  clear,  so  that  her  boy 
might  know  all  painful  facts  while  so  young  that  he  should 
never  remember  the  time  when  he  had  not  known  them, 
Susannah  went  on  to  explain  how  she  and  “  papa  ”  had 
found  him  among  the  mountains,  brought  him  home  to 
the  rectory,  and  made  him  their  son,  as  he  would  ahvays 
be;  that  he  must  grow  up  a  man — a  good  man,  like  papa 
— and  take  care  of  them  both  in  their  old  a2:e. 

“  And  if  Bob,  or  any  one,  ever  tells  you  mammy  does 
not  love  you  as  some  mothers  love  their  sons,  say,  she  loves 
you  more — because  she  chose  you.  ” 

“  As  I  chose  my  black  kitten  when  the  boys  were  going 
to  drown  it?” 

“Yes!  And  would  you  like  to  hear  why,  mammy  called 
you  Arthur?”  continued  she,  wishing  to  drive  out  all  pain 
from  the  infant  mind,  and  perhaps  impress  it  for  life. 

“  Shall  I  tell  you  another  story?” 

Mother ^s  “  ^tories  were  the  unfailing  panacea  for  every 
earthly  ill.  It  is  astonishing  how  much  you  can  make  a 
child  understand  if  you  only  put  it  in  words  simple  enough. 


KmG  AETHUR. 


79 


Arthur  already  knew  all  about  the  wooden  horse  of  Troy, 
Eomulus  and  Eemus,  Queen  Berengaria,  and  Eichard  Coeur 
de  Lion,  and  even  the  story  of  several  plays  of  Shakespeare. 
Now,  he  listened  with  wide  eyes  fixed  on  that  placid  heaven, 
the  mother ^s  face;  and  sucking  his  two  middle  fingers — a 
trick  he  had  when  supremely  happy — listened  to  the  story 
of  King  Arthur;  the  little  naked  child  who  was  found 
on  the  sea-coast  of  Cornwall,  and  brought  up  by  Merlin. 

Was  Merlin  like  my  papa?^^  interjected  Arthur) — how 
the  baby  grew  to  be  a  noble  knight,  a  valiant  soldier,  and 
at  last  a  king. 

Shall  I  ever  be  a  king,  mammy asked  the  small  list¬ 
ener,  with  a  look  so  radiant  that  his  weak-minded  mother 
thought  he  really  might  have  been!  Nevertheless  she  an¬ 
swered  gravely: 

No,  my  boy,  1  am  quite  sure  you  never  will  be  a  king 
— except  mammy^s  King  Arthur.  And  something  else,  too 
— a  good,  brave  man.  Brave  men  are  never  ashamed  to 
own  they  are  wrong;  so  weT  come  and  speak  to  Bob  before 
he  goes  home,  and  say  we  both  are  sorry  you  fought  with 
him,  because  you  know  now  that  he  did  not  tell  a  lie. 
Come.^^ 

Arthur  came.  He  did  not  speak  to  Bob,  but  his  mother 
spoke  for  him,  explaining  that  my  son  — as  she  careful¬ 
ly  called  him — now  knew  all  about  himself;  that  there 
must  be  no  more  references  to  the  subject,  and  no  more 
fighting.  He  was  Master  Arthur  Trevena,  and  she  sliquld 
dismiss  any  servant  who  did  not  treat  him  as  such. 

Susannah  said  all  this  calmly — but  a  sharp  inward  pain 
was  gnawing  at  her  heart  all  the  while,  until  she  overheard 
Arthur’s  Parthian  thrust  at  his  discomfited  foe. 

I  won’t  fight  you  again.  Bob — and  I’ll  play  with  you 
to-morrow.  I’m  a  deal  better  off  than  you — ^for  your 
mother  had  to  take  you  whether  she  liked  you  or  not — my 
mother  chose  me!” 

So  off  he  marched — the  little  King  ” — with  a  proud 


80 


KING  ARTaUK. 


and  gallant  air;  holding  by  his  mo  therms  hand,  and  entire¬ 
ly  contented  with  his  lot. 

She  was  contented,  too;  for  now  there  was  no  more  mys¬ 
tery — ^lier  boy  would  never  have  the  pang  of  finding  out 
suddenly  that  he  was  not  her  hoy.  Though  with  the  sen¬ 
sitive  reticence  of  childhood,  he  never  referred  to  the  mat¬ 
ter  again,  never  asked  her  a  single  question;  but  accepted 
with  milimited  trust  the  love  in  which  he  lived  as  in  per¬ 
petual  sunshine.  Only,  night  after  night,  as  his  mother 
sat  down  beside  him,  to  tell  him  just  one  little  Tory 
before  he  went  to  sleep — the  story  he  hked  best,  and  asked 
for  oftenest,  was  that  of  King  Arthur.  » 

So  life  went  on  at  the  rectory — a  smooth,  untroubled 
itream — 

“  The  constant  stream  of  love  which  knew  no  fall, 

Ne’er  roughened  by  those  cataracts  and  breaks 
Which  humor  interposed  too  often  makes.” 

f 

Years  afterward,  when  reading  that  exquisite  poem,  Arthur 
recognized — as  we  do  recognize  when  things  are  past — the 
picture  of  his  happy  childhood,  and  in  Cowper’s  mother 
the  portrait  of  his  own. 

Years  slipped  by — almost  like  a  dream.  From  the  baby 
he  grew  into  the  child — the  boy — a  big  boy,  though  not 
yet  a  school-boy — for  there  was  no  day-school  near.  Mrs. 
Trevena,  who  for  many  years  had  been  a  governess,  taught 
him  all  shb  knew.  By  and  by,  Mr.  Trevena,  inquiring 
artSouslv  about  his  Latin  and  Greek — to  the  rector  the  one 
necessity  of  human  learning — volunteered  to  continue  both. 
So  Arthur,  who  was  neither  a  genius  nor  a  dunce,  but 
something  between  the  two — a  boy  with  plenty  of  brains, 
if  he  would  only  use  them — gradually  approached  the  time 
when  hfe  ceases  to  be  all  play,  and  it  begins  to  dawn  upon 
even  the  idlest  boy,  or  the  one  most  keen  after  physical  en¬ 
joyments,  that  there  is  such  a  thing  as  work. 

It  did  upon  Arthur,  though  only  occasionally.  He  was 


KING  ARTHUR. 


81 


^  « 

by  no  means  a  model  boy.  He  honestly  owned  he  “  hated 
his  lessons,  and  only  did  them  “  to  please  mother,'’^  which 
secondary  reason  she  perforce  accepted,  and  made  use  of  to 
his  good.  Doubtless  she  would  have  preferred  a  studious 
boy  to  an  idle  one;  but  then  he  was  such  a  good  boy,  neither 
a  prig  nor  a  hypocrite;  and  sometimes  when  she  saw  his 
strong  temptations — ^the  exuberant  youthful  health  and  the 
joy  in  it — that  pure  joy  of  living  which  she  herself  had 
never  known  —she  forgave  him  everjdhing. 

Perhaps  both  his  adopted  parents  loved  him  all  the  better 
for  being  so  unlike  themselves — for  bringing  into  their 
quiet  household  new  elements  which  otherwise  would  have 
been  unknown  there;  young  companions,  games,  athletic 
sjDorts.  The  Pev.  Austin  had.  never  played  cricket  in  his 
life;  yet  after  going  to  see  Arthur  play,  he  was  allured  into 
lending  one  of  his  glebe-fields  to  the  village  cricket  club; 
and  would  watch  them  with  mild  approval  many  a  summer 
evening.  And  many  a  winter  morning  did  Mrs.  Trevena 
spend  beside  the  large  pond  at  Tawton  Abbas — just  to  see 
Arthur  skate.  Though  she  felt  sometimes  like  an  old  hen 
with  one  duckling— scarcely  able  to  hide  her  terror  at  every 
tumble  and  every  crack  on  the  ice — still  she  did  hide  it, 
and  gloried  in  her  boy^s  height,  agility,  and  grace.  Above 
all  in  his  perfect  fearlessness,  physical  and  moral. 

Spite  of  his  little  faults — and  he  had  his  share — ^Arthur 
possessed  one  quality,  the  root  of  all  good  in  either  man  or 
woman — he  was  not  a  coward.  From  infancy,  the  only 
fear  he  knew  was  the  grave  rebuke  of  his  mother^s  face; 
generally  a  silent  rebuke,  for  she  rarely  scolded  and  never 
whipped  him;  but  her  mute  displeasure  was  more  than  he 
could  stand.  It  brought  him  to  his  right  mind  at  once^ — to 
the  sobbing  Fll  be  good,  mammy  of  infancy— to  the 
half  proud,  half  humble  I^m  so  sorry,  mother,^'’  of  boy¬ 
hood.  The  turning  away  of  her  face  from  him  was  like 
the  sun  going  out  of  the  sky — ^he  could  not  bear  it.  And 
once  when  he  had  to  bear  it,  for  two  whole  days — for  his 


83 


KTKG  ARTHUR. 


unconquerable  idleness  had  so  vexed  her  that  she  put  the 
books  away,  and  refused  to  open  them  again,  his  agony  of 
distress  made  him  actually  ill.  It  was  the  turning-point; 
that  contest  between  parent  and  child,  which  if  the  latter  is 
allowed  to  win,  is  a  defeat — to  both — for  life. 

Susannah  was  a  very  gentle  woman;  but  she  could  be 
stern,  if  need  be,  stern  and  hard  as  stone.  When,  after 
two,  nay,  three  days  of  being  sent  to  Coventry,  and  a  fourth 
day,  when  he  literally  cried  himself  sick,  Arthur  came 
humbly,  his  books  under  his  arm,  and  implored  her  to  for¬ 
give  him,  she  replied  sadly: 

‘‘  Forgiving  is  not  forgetting.  You  have  made  mother  ^s 
heart  ache  as  it  never  ached  before.  Listen,  my  boy — ^for 
you  are  a  boy  now,  not  a  baby.^^  And  she  put  her  hand 
on  his  shoulder  and  looked  searchingly  mto  his  face,  as  if 
longing  to  find  there,  what  people  can  not  always  find  in 
their  very  own  children,  the  qualities  they  themselves  most 
value.  Arthur — ^for  these  twelve  years  papa  and  I  have 
done  our  very  best  for- you.  We  can  not  do  more.  The 
rest  you  must  do  for  yourself. 

“  How  do  mean,  mammy  dear?  Are  you  going  to 
send  me  away — to  school?'’^ 

“  No — for  we  could  not  afford  it.  How  could  papa, 
with  his  small  income,  pay  a  hundred  and  fifty  a  year  for 
your  schooling — and  you  to  be  as  idle  then  as  you  are  now? 
It  would  not  be  right.  I  would  not  let  him  do  it.  No,  if 
you  want  education  you  must  get  it  for  yourself — or  go 
without  it  and  grow  up  a  dunce.  ■’  ^ 

And  then  you  will  wish  you  had  left  me  to  die  at  the 
road-side,  instead  of  planting  me  like  your  sweet-william 
root.  Perhaps  you  are  right,  mother.'’^ 

Susannah  started — she  thought  Arthur  had  long  for¬ 
gotten  that  little  story;  but  one  never  knows  what  a  child 
forgets  or  remembers. 

There  was  a  pause  of  pain — and  then  she  said,  My  son, 
I  shall  never  wish  things  different  from  what  they  have 


KING  ARTHUR. 


83 


been.  And  I  am  content  with  yon  just  as  yon  are,  if  yon 
will  only  make  the  best  of  what  yon  are.  Do  you  think 
King  Arthur  would  ever  have  been  a  soldier  and  a  king,  if 
he  had  not  learned  his  lessons 

‘^Did  he  learn  lessons?  And  did  he  lihe  them?^^  asked 
Arthur  dolefully — so  dolefully  that  Mrs.  Trevena  could  not 
help  laughing.  At  which  the  young  sinner  ventured  to 
laugh  too— kissed  and  hugged  her,  vehemently  promising 
amendment.  She  shook  her  head — he  had  promised  so 
often,  and  forgot  it  next  day.  How  many  ‘‘  grown-ups 
do  the  same!  It  sometimes  struck  Susannah  as  a  curious 
fact  that  while  all  allowances  are  made  for  grown-up  peo¬ 
ple,  none  are  made  for  children.  Though  hard  as  the 
nether  millstone  in  keeping  Arthur  in  the  right  way — never 
for  a  moment  pretending  that  wrong  was  right — she  had 
great  pity  for  his  little  aberrations;  his  laziness,  his  feather- 
headedness,  and  the  like.  And  when  she  looked  at  his 
broad  brow  and  thoughtful  eyes — inherited.  Heaven  only 
knew  from  whom! — she  took  heart  of  grace  that  Heaven 
would  make  all  right  in  time. 

One  never  knows  when  an  arrow  strikes  home.  “  In  the 
morning  sow  thy  seed — in  the  evening  withhold  not  thy 
hand.'’^  Such  had  been  Susannah ^s  principle  all  her  days. 
She  did  her  best;  and  then  she  rested  in  hope — which 
sometimes  di®d — most  often  died! — but  now  and  then  it 
lived  and  blossomed — as  now. 

One  day — after  a  week  of  most  astonishing  industry, 
Arthur  said  suddenly,  “  Mother,  you  told  me  I  was  to  get 
education  for  myself.  How  am  I  to  get  it?^^ 

She  was  not  taken  by  surprise;  for  years  she  had  pondered 
the  question — as  she  did  everything  that  concerned  her  boy^s 
future.  She  had  said  truly,  that  to  send  Arthur  to  a 
boarding-school  was  impossible.  Even  if  possible,  it  would 
scarcely  have  been  right.  Her  husband  in  his  old  age 
would  need  all  his  own  money;  he  must  not  be  stinted  in 
anything  for  the  sake  of  a  son — who  was  not  his  son. 


84 


KING  ARTHUR. 


Passionately  as  she  loved  her  boy,  Susannah  held  the  balance 
of  justice  even.  So  she  answered  firmly: 

“  Arthur,  if  you  are  to  grow  up  a  clever  man  like  papa 
you  must  do  as  he  did — ^you  must  get  to  be  a  Winchester 
boy — and  then  take  yourself  to  New  College,  Oxford,  with 
a  Winchester  scholarship.  Mother  would  so  like  to  see  you 
in  cap  and  gown!^^ 

‘‘  Would  you?^^  said  he,  with  the  sudden  look  which  she 
loved  to  see — the  bright,  eager,  purpose-like  look — Then, 
ITl  try. " 

They  went  into  the  matter  at  once.  Mr.  Trevena,  who 
at  the  mention  of  Winchester  pricked  up  his  ears  like  an 
old  war-horse,  needed  little  persuasion  to  take  his  wife  and 
son  to  see  his  old  haunts  and  revive  his  old  acquaintance¬ 
ships.  One  of  the  masters  happened  to  be  a  school-fellow 
of  fifty  years  back;  they  fraternized  joyfully,  and  wandered 
about  together — Mrs.  Trevena  and  Arthur  following — 
through  the  chapel  and  courts,  the  school-rooms  and  play¬ 
grounds,  dear  to  all  Wykehamites,  where  generation  after 
generation  of  boys  have  worked  and  played  and  passed 
away.  Here  and  there  were  mementos  of  some  of  them 
who  had  made  themselves  famous  in  after-life,  and  of 
others — Arthur’s  eye  brightened,  and  his  mother’s  heart 
trembled,  as  they  stood  looking  at  them — who  had  died 
early,  mostly  on  the  field  of  battle,  only  a  ye^r  or  two  after 
being  Winchester  boys. 

Susannah  was  an  ambitious  woman — what  mother  of  a 
son  would  not  be:  When  Arthur  whispered  to  her,  ‘‘I 
mean  to  be  a  Winchester  boy,”  she  pressed  his  arm  in 
silence  as  they  walked  together — he  very  proud  of  being 
fully  as  tall  as  she.  They  understood  one  another,  and 
were  happy. 

Tliis  was  the  bright  side  of  things;  but  there  was  another 
side,  of  which  she  had  had  prevision,  but  never  so  clearly 
as  to-day. 

The  master  stood  explaining  to  her  various  things — while 


I 


KIKG  ARTHUR. 


85 


Mr.  Trevena  went  to  show  Arthur  the  picture  of  the  Faith¬ 
ful  Servant.  She  learned  that  a  certificate  of  baptism  must 
be  sent  in,  to  prove  the  boy^s  age — over  twelve  and  under 
thirteen — and  that  the  examination,  in  which  there  were 
often  nearly  a  hundred  candidates  for  fourteen  scholarships, 
was  about  the  middle  of  J uly. 

“  My  son  will  be  thirteen  next  June,-’^  said  Susannah — 
who  always  took  care  to  say  “  my  son  to  strangers. 

“  Then  he  has  only  one  chance.  He  will  have  to  work 
hard  for  it — but  no  doubt  he  will.  He  is  — ^glancing 
carelessly  at  Arthur,  who  stood  a  few  yards  off,  and  making 
the  superficial  remark  that  so  many  think  proper — he  is 
so  very  like  his  father.'’^ 

Whether  the  boy  overheard,  she  could  not  tell — if  he 
had,  no  doubt  he  would,  in  his  simplicity,  only  have  thought 
it  funny  that  he  should  resemble  his  gray,  stooping, 
elderly  papa;  but  Susannah  felt  herself  grow  hot  all  over. 
She  could  not  answer — any  explanation  at  that  moment 
was  impossible — yet  she  felt  like  a  deceiver —  acting  inevi¬ 
tably,  righteously,  but  fet  a  deceiver.  And  how  would  her 
boy  feel?  not  now  perhaps — he  was  too  young  to  take  it  in 
— but  by  and  by? 

I  ought  to  explain — she  began,  with  a  desperate  firm¬ 
ness.  At  that  moment  Mr.  Trevena  and  Arthur  came  up, 
rendering  explanation  impossible.  The  train  was  nearly 
due:  they  Were  late — as  the  good  rector  had  a  trick  of 
being — only  a  minute  remained  for  polite  adieus,  and  they 
hurried  away. 

But  as  Susannah  sat  silent,  watching  the  landscape  whirl 
past,  in  that  noisy  peace  which  allows  such  time  for  think¬ 
ing — a  new  anxiety  awoke  in  her  heart. 

She  had  resolved  to  send  her  boy  to  school,  for  she  felt 
he  must  go;  his  nature  required  the  spur  of  emulation  to 
learn  well;  but  she  had  not  taken  in  all  that  this  involved. 
Her  neighbors,  the  simple  folk  of  Tawton  Magna,  had  long 
since  accepted  the  truth,  and  then  forgot — as  the  Trevenas 


86 


KIKG  ARTHUR. 


had  almost  forgotten  themselves — that  Arthur  was  not 
their  own  child.  Not  a  word  to  the  contrary  was  now 
ever  said  to  him  or  them.  But  in  the  wider  world  to  which 
Arthur  was  going,  and  must  go,  things  were  sure  to  be  said 
— cruel  things,  perhaps — from  which  his  mother  could  no 
longer  protect  him. 

Had  he  been  a  girl,  it  would  have  been  different.  She 
could  then  have  kept  her  child  beside  her;  no  need  to  go 
to  school  at  all;  or  to  pass  from  the  shelter  of  the  mother’s 
wing,  except  into  some  honorable  happy  home,  where  she 
was  loved  for  herself — married  for  herself.  Many  a  King 
Cophetua  lives  to  bless  the  day  he  wooed  his  ‘  ‘  beggar- 
maid,”  and  especially,  if  she  has  ro  blood  relations!  But 
a  boy  must  face  the  world — stand  on  his  own  feet — fight 
his  own  battles.  What  if  Arthur’s  school-fellows  came  to 
find  out  his  history?  how  they  might  torment  him! — there 
is  nothing  crueller  than  your  ordinary  school-boy.  How 
lads  with  real  fathers  and  mothers  might  ieer  at  “  Nobody’s 
child”! 

Susannah  clinched  her  hands  under  her  shawl.  She  felt 
she  should  like  to  do  something — to  hurt  somebody,  who 
dared  to  hurt  her  child.  The  ‘Svild  animal”  feeling, 
which  makes  the  tamest  creatures  dangerous  when  their 
young  are  attacked,  came  into  her,  till  she  almost  laughed 
at  herself,  and  then  could  have  cried  at  her  own  helpless¬ 
ness.  Yet  tears  were  idle.  The  thing  was  inevitable — he 
must  bear  it.  How  could  she  help  him  to  bear  it? 

‘‘  Tell  the  truth  and  shame  the  devil  ’’  was,  as  ever,  was 
the  only  chance  for  her  boy;  and  after  all,  he  was  a  boy — 
“  with  hands  to  war  and  fingers  to  fight  ” — as  old  King 
David  had,  and  blessed  the  Lord  for.  Alas!  in  this  our 
world  they  are  only  too  necessary!  Arthur  had  moral 
courage  too,  as  had  been  lately  proved  when  a  neighboring 
curate,  hearing  the  boy’s  voice  in  church,  offered  to  teach 
him  singing,  and  music  too;  and,  in  spite  of  his  compan¬ 
ions,  the  young  millionaires  at  Taw  ton  Abbas,  calling  it 


/ 


KIKa  ARTHUE. 


87 


girlish,’^  he  persisted  in  steadily  strumming  on  the  rec¬ 
tory  piano,  and  never  missing  an  hour  of  the  village  choir- 
practice.  Music,  in  fact,  was  the  only^  thing  he  really 
worked  at,  with  all  his  heart  in  it.  Once  his  mother — list¬ 
ening  to  the  lovely  boy-voice,  and  hearing  from  the  ritual¬ 
istic  curate,  Mr.  Hardy,  what  a  remarkable  talent  he  had 
in  that  direction — recalled,  almost  with  a  pa^ng,  the  story 
of  that  opera-singer  who  had  run  away  from  Milan — who 
might  have  crossed  the  St.  Gothard,  and  stopped  at  Ander- 
matt — who  might  have  been —  But  speculations  were  idle 
— worse  than  idle — dangerous.  She  shut  up  all  these  things 
in  her  heart,  seeing  that,  however  it  came,  her  boy^s  talent 
for  music  was  there,  and  irrepressible.  Nor  did  she  try  to. 
repress  it;  she  only  insisted  that  he  should  work,  not  idle 
at  it;  and  do  his  other  work  steadily,  meantime. 

He  did.  Mr.  Hardy,  the  musical  curate,  who,  like  many 
more,  combined  music  and  mathematics,  offered  to  help 
him  in  his  Euclid  and  algebra;  the  rector  taught  him  Latin 
and  Greek;  his  mother,  and  the  faithful  Manette,  now  pro¬ 
moted  from  nurse  to  cook,  and  likely  to  be  a  fixture  at  the 
rectory,  helped  him  in  his  French.  So  all  was  in  train  for 
the  Winchester  examination,  to  which  he  must  go  up  in 
J  uly — a  big  boy  of  thirteen — ^f or  those  three  anxious  days 
which  would  probably  decide  his  lot  for  life. 

As  the  time  approached,  Mrs.  Travena,  spite  of  her 
smooth  brow  and  quiet  smile,  would  thankfully  ‘‘  have 
given  worlds — as  the  phrase  is — not  to  put  it  off — it  was 
her  way  always  to  face  things — but  to  know  that  it  was  safe 
over. 

Another  thing  which  she  had  to  face  she  did  put  off,  un¬ 
intentionally,  till,  the  very  last  day.  Then  having  settled 
everything,  and  even  packed  her  boy^s  box  and  her  own — 
they  were  to  stay  together  with  Mr.  Trevena^s  old  school¬ 
fellow  during  the  three  days  of  examination — she  and  Ar¬ 
thur  walked  up  and  down  together  along  their  favorite 
walk,  the  peach-tree  walk,  under  a  high  south  wall.  Su- 


88 


KIKG  AKTHUE. 


sannali  was  now  growing  old  enough  to  love  the  shelter  ol 
a  south  wall  and  the  smooth  ease  of  a  gravel  walk.  But 
age  had  no  terrors,  for  was  not  her  boy^s  strong  arm  round 
her  waist,  and  his  bright  face  beside  her?  In  his  young  lifo 
she  lived  anew,  perhaps  even  a  happier  life  than  her  own. 

‘‘If  you  are  tired,  mammy,  let  us  sit  down.’’ ^  Arthur 
always  saw  when  his  mother  was  tired,  quicker  even  than 
her  husband  did;  but  then  he  was  such  a  practical  boy, 
and  not  a  bit  of  a  bookworm.  “  You  stop  here  in  the  sum¬ 
mer-house,  and  I^’ll  help  Bob  Bates  to  gather  the  peas  for 
dinner. 

“  No,  not  yet,^^  for  she  had  something  to  say  which  must 
be  said  before  he  went  to  Winchester,  only  it  was  difficult 
to  begin.  “  Bob  is  a  big  boy  now,  almost  as  tall  as  his  fa¬ 
ther. 

_  • 

“  Bob  is  ever  so  much  older  than  I  am,^^  said  Arthur,  a 
little  aggrieved.  “  1^11  be  as  tall  as  my  papa  some  day.^^ 

“  I  hope  so,  dear.'^^  Then  suddenly  facing  the  evil, 
though  it  made  her  heart  beat  almost  with  the  pulsations 
of  her  youth,  “Does  Bob  Bates  ever  speak  to  you  now 
about  what  you  fought  over,  years  ago?” 

“  What  was  that,  mammy?  I  forget.  No,^^  with  a  quick 
blush,  the  sensitive  blush  so  ready  to  come  and  go  on  his 
fair  face.  “  No,  I  think  I  remember.  It  was  about  my 
not  being  papa^s  own  boy,  and  yours.  No,  nobody  ever 
says  a  word  to  me  now.'^^ 

“  That  is  well.^^ 

,  They  walked  on  in  silence,  she  thmking  how  best  to  put 
the  next  thing  she  had  to  say,  when  he  saved  her  the  say¬ 
ing  of  it. 

“  Mother,  if  anybody  speaks  to  me  like  that  at  Winches¬ 
ter,  what  am  I  to  do?  Shall  I  fight  them?^^ 

She  paused  a  minute.  It  was  so  hard,  so  hard! 

“  No,  my  dear.  I  see  no  good  in  fighting.  Nobody 
means  you  any  harm,  and  nothing  they  say  can  alter  any- 


I 


KIKG  ARTHUR.  '  89 

thing.  It  is  the  truth.  hTo  brave  man  need  be  afraid  of 
the  truth.  I  am  sure  King  Arthur  never  was.^"’ 

Did  anybody  ever  say  to  him — what  Bob  Bates  used  to 
say  to  me?’^ 

Very  likely,  for  his  parentage  was  never  known.  But 
he  was  such  a  noble  knight  in  himself  that  nobody  ever 
cared  to  ask  where  he  sprung  from.  It  will  be  the  same 
with  you,  if  you  grow  up  a  good  man.^^ 

“  But  I  shall  never  be  a  king,  and  have  Knights  of  the 
Round  Table. 

“  I  am  afraid  not.  What  would  you  like  to  be?^^ 

Kow  the  great  event  in  the  boy^s  life  was  his  having  been 
lately  taken  by  his  friend  the  High  Church  curate  to  Exe¬ 
ter,  where  he  heard  an  oratorio  and  an  opera.  It  should 
not  have  been  a  pang,  and  yet  it  was — when  he  answered 
with  enthusiasm,  I  should  like  to  be  an  opera-singer 
his  mother  started  as  if  she  had  been  shot. 

But  she  answered  calmly,  Well,  my  son,  boys  often 
make  resolves,  and  break  them.  I  knew  one  little  fellow 
who  was  determined  to  be  lord-chancellor,  but  he  changed 
his  mind  and  said  he  would  be  an  omnibus-driver.  How¬ 
ever,  just  now,  you  can  only  be  one  thing — a  Winchester 
boy.  Try  for  that. 

“  I  Will,^^  said  Arthur  firmly,  ‘‘  because  I  know  mother 
would  like  it.’’ ^ 

Thank  you/^  pressing  the  arm  that  was  round  her 
waist.  Youths  often  like  to  make  love  to  a  little  mother, 
no  bigger  than  themselves.  She  looked  at  him,  the  boy 
that  any  mother  might  be  proud  of — that  any  childless 
^  mother  might  have  craved  after  with  frantic  longing — and 
that  his  own  mother  had  thrown  away.  Ko  matter!  he 
was  her  son  now — hers,  Susannah^ s — by  every  right  of 
justice  and  duty,  if  not  nature;  and  no  power  on  earth 
should  ever  snatch  him  from  her. 

She  was  not  sorry  to  have  to  take  him  to  Winchester  her¬ 
self,  and  make  friends  for  him  there,  whether  he  succeeded 

X 


90 


KING  ARTHUK. 


or  failed;  she  had  begun  to  feel  that  their  shut-up  lif« 
would  never  do  for  a  growing  boy.  He  would  need  com¬ 
panions;  and  their  only  near  neighbors^  except  the  villag¬ 
ers,  were  the  tenants  of  Tawton  Abbas;  families  continually 
changing,  for  the  idiot  heir  of  the  Damerels  still  lived  on, 
and  it  was  said  that  when  he  died  there  would  be  a  grand 
fight  between  two  distant  cousins  for  the  title  and  estate. 
Meanwhile,  the  lovely  old  house  was  sometimes  let,  some¬ 
times  stood  empty,  and  the  rectory  family  had  the  run  of 
the  park  and  gardens.  But  of  society  they  had  almost 
none.  This  did  not  matter  to  Austin  and  Susannah,  but  it 
did  to  Arthur,  who,  now  risen  above  the  level  of  Bob 
Bates,  often  wished  for  somebody  to  play  with — somebody 
young.  ^  ^  And  therefore,  though  parting  with  him  would 
be  like  cutting  off  her  right  hand,  his  mother  had  deter¬ 
mined  to  send  him  to  school. 

“  Mr.  Hardy  and  papa  both  say  you  can  pass  if  you  try. 
You  must  try.  Think  how  grand  it  would  be  to  have 
your  name  on  the  Roll. 

And  to  go  and  live  a,t  Winchester,  where  I  can  hear 
the  cathedral  service  every  day  if  I  like,  and  learn  to  sing 
in  the  college  chapel. 

You  could  learn  anything,  my  boy,  if  you  would  only 
give  your  mind  to  it — ^you  idle  monkey.  But  you  will  work 
now?  You^ll  do  your  very  best,  and  if  you  fail — well — 
weTl  try  something  else — 

“  ‘  But  screw  your  courage  to  the 'sticking  place, 

And  we’ll  not  fail!’  ” 

‘‘Bravo,  mother!  You  are  such  a  brick!  You  ought 
to  be  a  boy  yourself.'’^ 

They  laughed,  thoroughly  understanding  one  another. 
Then  not  sorfy  for  a  brief  pause  of  solitude,  in  the  nervous 
strain  which  was  greater  than  she  knew,  she  sent  Arthur 
off  for  a  walk  across  the  park,  and  sat  down  under  the 
acacia  tree  on  the  rectory  lawn,  watching  idly  the  swallows 


KIKG  AETHUE. 


91 


flying  over  tlie  glebe-meadows,  where  the  cows  were  feed¬ 
ing,  and  the  trees  stood  motionless  in  the  summer  silence  of 
the  newly  shorn,  fresh,  green  fields. 

A  peaceful,  lovely  picture !  grown  each  year  more  famil¬ 
iar  and  more  dear.  Susannah  hoped  to  watch  it  year  after 
year  until  she  died.  For  she  felt  sure  her  husband  would 
never  leave  Tawton  Magna.  He  was  not  ambitious — had 
no  desire  of  church  promotion.  He,  too,  was  quite  content 
with  his  life.  Her  eyes  followed  him,  sauntering  up  and 
down  the  peach-tree  walk,  writing  in  his  head  his  next 
Sunday’s  sermon.  She  thought  of  all  his  goodness,  gentle¬ 
ness,  and  tenderness,  not  only  to  her  but  to  her  boy  ;  and  it 
seemed  as  if  no  woman  ever  had  a  happier  life  than  she — a 
life  to  which  no  change  could  ever  come. 

At  that  minute — it  is  strange  how  often  these  coinci¬ 
dences  happen — Arthur  came  running  to  her  with  a  letter. 

“A  boy  brought  it.  I  met  hingi  at  the  gate.  He  says 
he  has  to  wait  for  an  answer.” 

‘‘  Take  it  to  papa,”  she  was  just  saying  carelessly,  when 
something  struck  her  as  familiar  in  the  handwriting — terri¬ 
bly  familiar.  Many  people  know  what  it  is — the  heart¬ 
sinking  at  sight  of  one  particular  handwriting,  which  has 
been  the  curse  of  the  family  for  a  life-time. 

Mother,  you  look  so  white!  What  is  the  matter?” 

Nothing,  dear  boy.  I  will  take  papa  his  letter.” 

It  was  from  Hal  Trevena.  He  was  in  a  Small  public- 
house  of  the  neighboring  town,  with  his  wife  and  child,  and 
without  a  halfpenny. 

So  he  said,  at  least,  adding  that  the  inconvenience  was 
but  temporary,  as  they  were  on  their  way  to  some  wealthy 
friends  of  Mrs.  Trevena’ s  residing  in  Wales.”  Only  the 
said  Mrs.  Trevena  had  broken  down  on  the  way,  and  lay 
dangerously  ill,  which  was,  the  husband  added,  most  in¬ 
convenient.  ”  He  begged  for  ‘‘  a  small  loan,”  and  that 
his  brother  would  go  and  see  him. 

“  Poor  Hal^^^oor  Hal — of  course  I  must  go,”  said  the 


92 


KING  AKTHUE. 


rector^  with  a  deprecating,  distressed  loot.  “  And  yon 
would  not  obje6t — to  my  giving  him  a  little  money 

“No,  of  course  not.'’^  She  took  her  husband ^s  hand, 
and  sat  down  on  the  bench  beside  him,  in  a  sort  of  dull 
submission  to  fate.  The  roses  were  blooming,  the  bees  hum¬ 
ming  in  them,  over  the  pretty  summer-house;  the  swal¬ 
lows  were  darting  across  the  high  blue  sky,  and  the  cows 
feeding  in  the  meadow,  just  as  they  had  done  ten  minutes 
ago,  when  she  had  felt  so  happy,  so  thankful  to  God  for 
her  happiness.  And  now-r- 

“  Poor  Hal,^^  repeated  Austin  uneasily.  “  A  sick  wife, 
does  he  say?  and  he  never,  was  used  to  illness,  any  more 
than  I.  But  I  suppose  I  ought  to  go  to  them."’'’ 

Susannah  thought  a  minute,  then  she  said,  “  Shall  I  go 
instead  of  you?’^ 

“  Oh,  if  you  would!  My  dear,  how  kind  of  you!^^ 

Mrs.  Trevena  never  answered.  She  knew  it  was  not 
kindness  at  all,  only  a  desperate  preventive  against  danger 
which  she  foresaw,  and  could  meet,  but  Austin  could  not. 

“  So  very  kind,^^  he  repeated.  “  But  you  forget — ^you 
were  to  take  the  boy  to  Winchester  to-morrow."’^ 

“Mr.  Hardy  would  take  him  instead  of  me.  And  he 
might  perhaps  be  as  well  alone.  He  must  learn  to  face  the 
world  some  time,'’^  she  added,  with  a  sad  kind  of  smile. 
“  At  any  rate,  I  wih  go  now,  and  come  back  as  soon  as  I 
can. 

But  she  did  not  come  back.  It  was  only  a  half-hour^s 
walk,  yet  Arthur  and  his  papa  sat  expecting  her  in  vain, 
hour  after  hour — till — almost  for  the  first  time  in  his  life 
— the  boy  had  to  go  to  bed  without  his  mother^ s  good-night 
kiss.  Late,  almost  at  midnight,  a  messenger  arrived, 
bringing  two  letters;  one  to  Arthur — the  first  he  had  ever 
received — explaining  that  he  must  go  to  Winchester  “  like 
a  man  with  Mr.  Hardy,  and  do  his  very  best,  so  that 
whether  he  succeeded  or  failed  in  getting  the  scholarship, 
his  mother  might  be  proud  of  her  boy. 


KlifG  ARTHUR. 


93 


To  lier  husband  she  wrote  even  more  briefly.  HaFs 
wife  is  dying.  Her  little  girl — it  was  a  girl,  not  a  boy — is 
her  only  nurse.  We  must  take  them  in.  Teil  Manette  to 
get  ready  the  spare  room,  and  as  soon  as  Arthur  and  Mr. 
Hardy  are  gone,  send  a  fly  here.  There  is  little  luggage — 
he  has  spent  everything  they  had  in  the  world.  She  will 
be  better  dead,  poor  soul! — but  she  ought  to  die  peacefully 
in  our  house. 

This  was  all  Susannah  wrote — or  said. 

Hext  day,  in  the  dusk  of  the  evening,  her  husband 
watched  her  superintend  the  carrying  upstairs  of  what 
seemed  little  more  than  a  bundle  of  clothes,  with  a  white 
ghastly  face  appearing  out  of  it — that  d3dng  face  which,  it 
was  plain  to  see,  would  never  come  down-stairs  any  more. 
Closely  following  came  a  little  girl;  a  small  elfish  creature, 
with  thin,  starved,  withered  features,  and  great  dark  eyes 
— she  seemed  all  eyes — watching  the  sick  mother  ‘with  a 
kind  of  fierce  jealousy,  as  if  to  protect  her  from  everybody 
else. 

The  husband  and  father  did  not  appear. 

He  will  be  here  at  supper-time — did  he  not  say  so, 
Hanny?'’^  observed  Mrs.  Trevena,  taking  the  child ^s  hand. 

‘‘  He  said  so^ — but  we  never  believe  what  papa  says,^^ 
was  the  answer — with  the  cruel  candor  of  ten  years  old. 

So,  there  they  were  under  her  roof — Hal  Trevena  and 
his  family.  And  her  own  boy^s  room  was  empty;  and 
throughout  the  house  was  that  terrible  silence  which  marks 
the  absence  of  a  child — a  noisy,  merry,  happy  child. 

She  had  done  her  duty — the  duty  which  lay  to  her  hand, 
so  plain  that  she  could  not  choose  but  do  it;  yet,  as  she  laid 
her  head  down  for  the  few  minutes  of  sleep  that  she  was 
able  to  snatch  on  the  sofa,  in  the  chamber  of  the  dying 
woman,  Susann^h^s  pillow  was  wet  with  her  tears. 


94 


KING  ARTHUE. 


CHAPTER  V. 

The  next  two  days  went  by  in  quiet — ^hopeless,  passion¬ 
less  quiet.-  Life  yet  lingered  in  Halbert  Trevena^s  wife; 
but  they  all  knew — and  she  knew  too^  they  thought — that 
nothing  could  save  her.  She  was  in  the  last  stage  of  con¬ 
sumption,  or  rather  atrophy;  brought  on,  no  doubt,  by 
misery  and  privation.  By  making  dives  and  guesses  at 
truth  through  a  mass  of  superincumbent  fiction,  Susannah 
gained  from  her  brother-in-law  something  of  the  family  his¬ 
tory. 

It  appeared  that  Hanny — christened  Anastasia — was 
their  only  child;  the  “  son  and  hcir,^^  though  not  quite 
non-existent,  having  died  soon  after  his  birth.  The  mill¬ 
ionaire  father-in-law  was  also  a  creation  of  Captain  Tre- 
vena^s  imagination;  or,  at  any  rate,  whatever  money  the 
old  man  possessed  had  speedily  been  drained  from  him  by 
his  aristocratic  son-in-law.  During  his  life-time  he  had 
protected  his  daughter  and  grandchild  as  well  as  he  could; 
when  he  died  both  fell  helplessly  into  the  hands  of  that 
personage,  to  whom,  unless  he  altogether  outrages  moral¬ 
ity,  the  law  persists  in  giving  the  rights — though  he  fulfills 
none  of  the  duties — of  husband  and  father.'’^  The  wife, 
a  feeble  creature,  born  to  suffer  and  complain,  had  clung 
to  him,  probably  because  she  had  nothing  else  to  cling  to; 
and  so  they  had  drifted  on,  sinking  or  swimming.  Heaven 
knew  how,  or  how  long — it  was  useless  to  inquire — till  they 
came  to  England  and  to  Tawton  Magna. 

Not  that  we  meant  to  inflict  ourselves  upon  you,  ex¬ 
cept  for  a  short  visit, said  Captain  Trevena,  with  great 
dignity.  We  thought  of  wintering  at  Bath — we  were  on 
our  way  thither  when  my  dear  invalid  broke  down.  But  I 
hope  she  will  be  better  soon.^^ 

She  will  be  better  soon,’^  I’epeated  Susannah;  but  he 


KIKG  ARTHUR. 


05 


either  could  not  or  would  not  understand  her  meanings  and 
it  was  no  use  to  press  the  fact;  or  the  other  one,  that  Taw- 
ton  was  not  on  the  road  to  Bath  at  all.  But  fact  and 
fiction  were  inextricably  mingled  in  Captain  Trevena^s 
conversation.  Susannah^ s  only  desire  was  to  keep  him  out 
of  his  wife^s  sick-room — which  was  not  difficult — ^he  so 
hated  illness;  and  let  her  slip  quietly  into  that  peace  of 
death  which  was  far  better  than  life. 

Poor  woman ! — what  sort  of  woman  she  was  or  had  been, 
mattered  httle  now.  Her  sister-in-law  inquired  nothing. 
She  did  carefully  all  that  could  be  done  for  the  remark¬ 
ably  fine  woman  — who  never  could  have  been  anything 
but  a  plain  and  rather  common-looking  person;  she  held 
with  her  firm  soft  clasp  the  dying  hand — evidently  not  a 
lady^s  hand — and  so  thin  that  once,  in  washing  it,  the  wed¬ 
ding-ring  slipped  off. 

DonT  put  it  on  again — ^keep  it  for  Hanny,  was  all  the 
sick  woman  said;  as  if  relieved  at  dying  without  that  badge 
of  slavery. 

She  never  asked  for  her  husband,  but  only  for  Hanny. 
And  the  child,  who  had  none  of  the  looks  and  ways  of 
childhood,  scarcely  ever  left  her  bedside.  Nanny  was 
small,  dark,  and  plain;  exceedingly  like  her  niother;  not 
a  bit  of  a  Trevena  — ^her  father  said,  apologetically.  He 
evidently  did  not  care  for  her.  Nor,  candidly  speaking, 
did  Susannah  herself  feel  much  drawn  to  the  little  girl,  ex¬ 
cept  for  her  entire  devotion  to  her  poor  mother. 

During  the  long  night-watches — for,  feeling  sure  the  end 
was  near,  she  had  never  taken  her  clothes  off  since  that 
sunny  hour  of  ignorant  peace  under  the  acacia-tree — the 
other  mother  sat  and  thought;  looking  anxiously  ahead — 
as,  possibly  because  Austin  never  did  it,  she  was  prone  to 
do;  weighing  well  the  case,  and  considering  every  claim  of 
duty,  and  of  that  much-belauded  quality,  self-sacrifice, 
which  so  seldom  involves  the  sacrifice  of  only  oner’s  self. 
It  did  not  here.  To  take  Nanny  as  a  permanent  inmate — 


9G 


KIKG  ARTHUR. 


which  seemed  the  most  natural  and  right  thing — would 
alter  life  entirely  to  the  happy  little  family  at  the  rectory. 
True,  Arthur  might  go  to  school,  and  Nanny  come  in  his 
place;  but  could  Susannah  love  any  child  but  Arthur?  Cer¬ 
tainly  not  Halbert  Trevena’s  child.  And  to  have  him,  the 
father,  coming  and  going,  tormenting  Austin,  perhaps 
sowing  discord  between  him  and  her — or  him  and  Arthur 
- — it  would  be  more  than  she  could  bear. 

‘‘  But  perhaps, she  said  to  herself,  “  I  may  not  have  to 
bear  it.  He  may  want  his  daughter  himself — or,^^  she  was 
almost  ashamed  of  the  thought — ^yet  it  was  true — the 
house  which  held  his  daughter  would  be  the  last  place 
where  he  would  care  to  go  to. 

She  was  in  a  great  strait;  dreading  continually  that  the 
dying  woman  should  speak,  and  perhaps  exact  some  death¬ 
bed  promise  that  might  burden  her  whole  future — yet  what 
could  she  do? 

On  the  forenoon  of  the  second  day,  seeing  no  change, 
she  snatched  half  an  hour  of  fresh  air  in  the  peach-tree 
walk — mother ^s  thinking-place,^^  Arthur  called  it.  There 
had  been  a  letter  from  Arthur — telling  how  he  had  not  as 
yet  been  ‘‘  weeded  out,^^  as  the  incompetent  boys  were,  day 
by  day — a  hopeful  sign;  but  the  tug  of  war  was  yet  to  come. 

And  he  is  all  alone  by  himself — my  darling  boy!^^  she 
thought,  with  the  natural  mother^s  pang  and  mother^s 
yearning;  then  remembered  that  other  mother  who  was 
about  to  leave  her  child  all  alone  by  itself  — nay — worse 
than  alone — forever. 

The  soft  sleepy  summer  day  seemed  quite  dreadful  in  its 
calm.  And  she  could  speak  to  no  one — ^least  of  all  to  her 
husband,  who  looked  so  worried  and  weary,  who  tried  to 
smile,  while  his  brother  smoked  in  his  study  and  drank  his 
wine,  and  conversed  with  him  from  morning  till  night; 
loud  talk — boasting  talk,  in  which  it  was  a  severe  brain- 
exercise  to  distinguish  what  was  the  truth  and  what  were — 
in  plain  English — lies. 


KIKG  ARTHUR. 


0? 


-Doubtless  he  was  at  it  now— for  she  could  smell  a  cigar 
in  the  summer-house;  but  the  second  voice  there  was  not 
the  rector’s — it  was  the  low  whimpering  of  a  child. 

She  had  meant  to  avoid  the  spot;  but  now  she  walked 
right  toward  it.  Susannah  had  one  great  weakness — she 
never  could  hear  a  child  cry  without  going  to  see  what  was 
amiss. 

There  stood  Captain  Trevena,  with  his  little  girl  before 
him.  He  held  her  by  the  shoulders  and  was  shaking  her 
as  a  big  dog  shakes  a  hare.  And  not -unlike  a  hunted  hare’s 
was  the  look  of  those  frightened  pathetic  eyes. 

“  I’ll  teach  you  to  liide  things  from  your  father/’  he  was 
saying — in  a  voice  very  different  from  his  bland  conversa¬ 
tion-tone.  “Wait  till  your  mother  is  dead — and  then. — 
Once  more — where  does  she  keep  that  diamond  ring?” 

“  Mother  made  me  promise  not  to  tell  anybody — and  I 
won’t  tell,”  sobbed  the  child. 

“  You  won’t?  Then,  take  that — and  that — and  that.” 

With  each  word  came  a  blow — what  the  advocates  of 
corporal  punishment  for  children  would  call  “  just  a  box 
on  the  ear.”  But  blows  they  were;  and  they  rang  loudly 
on  either  side  of  the  poor  little  head — the  head  with  the 
delicate  brain. 

• 

Susannah  darted  forward — “Brute!”  she  muttered  be¬ 
neath  her  breath;  and  snatched  Nanny  out  of  reach  of  the 
father’s  hand — the  hand — nominallj  that  of  a  man  and  a 
gentleman — lifted  against  a  child.  Taking  the  little  girl 
in  her  arms — though  ten  years  old  Nanny  was  piteously 
small  and  light — Mrs.  Trevena  faced  her  brother-in-law 
with  flashing  eyes. 

Brutes  are  almost  always  cowards.  Captain  Trevena’s 
rage  evaporated  in  the  mildest  politeness: 

‘  ‘  I  am  sorry  you  should  have  come  at  such  an  inoppor¬ 
tune  moment  A  little  wholesome  chastisement — ali  par¬ 
ents  must  have  the  pain  of  administering  it  sometimes, 

4 


98 


KmG  ABTHUR. 


But  perhaps  your  boy  is  so  perfect  that  he  never  requires 
whipping 

I  should  scorn  to  whip  him.  I  should  feel  that  every 
blow  I  gave  to  him  was  a  degradation  to  myself.  And  for 
your  child — touch  her  again  if  you  dare!^^ 

Then  the  superficial  gloss  melted  oil,  and  the  brute 
nature — harsh  word,  but  true! — reasserted  itself. 

You  had  better  not  interfere  between  me  and  Nanny. 
ITl  do  as  I  like  with  my  own. 

You  will  not,^^  said  Susannah  resolutely.  “  No  man^s 
child  is  his  own  to  do  as  he  likes  with.  He  must  be  a  true 
parent  or  he  has  no  parental  rights  at  all.  Nanny!  little 
Nanny  !^^ 

But  the  child  heard  notliing.  She  had  fainted. 

You  see?^'’  said  Susannah,  showing  the  white  little  face 
which  lay  on  her  shoulder.  ‘^.Now  go.  It  is  the  best 
thing  you  can  do.’’^ 

She  said  not  another  word — her  scorn  was  too  great. 
Under  it  he  slunk  away  to  the  other  end  of  the  garden: 
where  half  an  hour  afterward,  when  Nanny  was  quite  re¬ 
covered,  having  made  no  word  of  complaint  or  explanation 
except,  “  Don’t  tell  mother,”  he  was  seen  w'alking  and 
smoking  with  leisurely  grace,  just  as  if  nothing  had  hap¬ 
pened. 

From  that  moment  Mrs.  Tre vena’s  mind  was  made  up. 
She  did  not  feel  particularly  drawn  to  Nanny,  who  was  not 
an  interesting  child;  but  she  was  a  child,  and  every 
womanly  and  motherly  feeling  in  Susannah’s  nature  re¬ 
volted  from  the  thought  of  her  being  left  helpless,  mother¬ 
less,  in  the  hands'  of  such  a  father. 

I  don’t  want  to  do  it — I  would  prefer  not  to  do  it,”  she 
said  to  her  husband  in  the  few  minutes’  talk  they  had 
together  that  night.  But  there  is  no  alternative.  When 
Nanny’s  mother  dies  we  must  take  the  child.  ” 

‘‘I  suppose  we  must,”  said  Austin  with  a  troubled  air. 

But  she  is  not  the  least  bit  of  a  Trevena.” 


KIKG  AKTHUR. 


99 


No,  thank  God!^’  Snsannah  was  no  the  point  of  say¬ 
ing,  but  stopped,  and  leaning  down  kissed  the  wrinkled 
brow  that  she  had  loved  ever  since  it  was  smooth  and 
young.  ‘‘  You  are  the  best  man  I  ever  knew  in  all  my  life. 
You  do  your  duty  whatever  comes.  Do  it  still,  Austin, 
and — so  shall 

Before  settling  again  to  her  nightly  watch,  she  tucked  tip 
little  Nanny  in  her  sofa-bed,  and  kissed  her — kindly,  rather 
than  tenderly.  She  felt  kindly  to  every  child,  but  she  had 
no  heart  of  love  for  any  but  Arthur.  Then  seeing  Nanny^s 
mother  was  watching  her — apparently  wide  awake,  and 
wishing  to  talk — she  came  and  sat  down  by  the  bedside, 
prepared  for  whatever  might  happen. 

“  Nanny  is  fast  asleep — she  was  rather  tired.  She  is  a 
good  little  girl.-’^ 

The  gentle  whisper  was  answered  by  a  faint  pressure  of 
Susannah '’s  hand.  ^‘Yes — veiy  good.  I  want  to  speak 
to  you — about  Nanny. 

It  was  not  an  hour  for  disguising,  or  delaying,  the  truth. 
Still  Mrs.  Trevena  could  not  help  saying,  By  and  by, 
when  you  are  better. 

I  shall  never  be  better.  I  donT  want  to  be  better — I 
want  to  die — except  for  Nanny.  And  as  she  spoke,  very 
feebly  and  faintly,  two  great  tears  stole  from  the  dying 
eyes,  and  rolled  down  the  wasted  cheeks. 

All  the  mother  in  Susannah^’s  heart  yearned  over  this 
other  mother,  obliged  to  go  and  leave  her  child  alone  in  a 
cruel  world.  She  paused  a  minute,  and  then  said,  though 
feeling  keenly  all  that  the  promise  involved,  and  how  hard 
a  sacrifice  it  was  to  make  it,  Be  content  about  Nanny. 
We — my  husband  and  I — will  always  take  care  of  her. 

To  her  astonishment,  the  sick  woman,  instead  of  show¬ 
ing  gratitude,  fe]l  into  an  agony  of  distress. 

“  No — no — ^no.  It  is  the  last  thing  I  should  wish.  Let 
her  be  taken  right  away — brought  up  anyhow,  anywhere — 
but  not  with  the  Trevenas.  No  Trevenas — ^no  Trevenas,/^ 


100 


KmG  ARTHUE. 


she  kept  muttering;  while  shudder  after  shudder  passed 
over  her. 

Mrs.  Trevena  felt  neither  anger  nor  pain — not  even  sur¬ 
prise.  In  her  sister-in-law^  s  place  she  knew  she  should 
have  said  the  same.  There  have  been  mothers — she  could 
understand  it — who  would  rather  see  their  children  die  than 
leave  them  in  the  hands  of  their  father. 

I  am  not  a  Trevena^  she  said  soothingly.  Can  you 
not  trust  me?^"’ 

The  dying  eyes  opened;  and  the  two  women — both 
mothers — looked  fixedly  at  each  other.  What  different 
faces!— -what  different  lives!  But  was  it  entirely  Tate  that 
had  done  it?  Do  we  not  constantly  see  some  women  who 
conquer  Fate,  and  make  peace  out  of  misery?  while  others 
throw  away  the  happiest  lot  and  convert  it  into  woe?  How¬ 
ever,  this  is  a  mystery  which  none  can  unravel:  Susannah 
never  attempted  to  do  so. 

She  took  her  sister-in-law^s  hand,  and  by  degrees  suc¬ 
ceeded  in  winning  from  her  enough  confidence  to  get  some 
light  on  the  dark  future. 

It  seemed  the  woman^s  one  hope  in  coming  to  England 
had  been  that  she  might  live  long  enough  to  place  her  child 
with  her  own  former  governess — a  Miss  Grogan — who  kept 
a  small  school  at  Bath,  and  would  educate  Eanny,  whether 
23aid.  or  not  paid,  until  she  could  earn  her  own  living;  and 
also  protect  her  from  the  one  person  in  the  world  against 
whom  she  required  protection — her  father. 

‘‘Miss  Grogan  knows  everything;  she  was  with  us  in 
Australia — she  is  altogether  faithful.  Take  Nanny  to  her 
— take  her  yourself,  and  donT  tell  him  the  address — Nanny 
knows  it — only  Nanny.  Hide  the  child  from  him — ^hide 
her!  If  I  cquld  only  hide  her  with  me  in  the  grave!  she 
would  be  safe  there. 

“  She  shall  be  safe— I  will  see  to  that.  Be  satisfied. 

Susannah’-s  low  firm  voice  and  reassuring  clasp,  seemed 
to  bring  comfort  to  the  miserable  woman,  whose  misery 


KING  ARTHUE.  101 

would  soon  be  past.  For  such  as  she  there  is  no  refuge  ex¬ 
cept  death;  and  her  sister-in-law  knew  it. 

“  Yes,  I  think  I  may  trust  you — as  you  said,  you  are  not 
a  Trevena.  Look  here ! 

Opening  her  night-dress,  she  showed,  suspended  round 
her  neck,  a  valuable  ring.  In  the  dim  candle-light  the 
stone — one  huge  diamond — glittered  with  a  ghastly  bright¬ 
ness  on  the  poor  withered  breast,  little  more  than  skin  and 
bone. 

‘‘  When  I  am  dead,  take  care  of  this.  My  father  found 
it  at  Ballarat,  and  left  it  to  ’  Nanny.  It  is  all  she  has. 
DonH  let  hi7n  see  it — don^t  let  him  get  it.  You  promise?^^ 
I  promise. 

And  for  the  first  time  Susannah  kissed  her  sister-in-law. 
When  her  lips  touched  the  brow  she  felt  the  death-damp 
already  gathering  there.  A  violent  fit  of  coughing  came 
on,  and  after  that  there  was  quiet. 

Should  she  disturb  this  last  hour  of  peace  Susannah 
decided  not.  Should  she  call  the  household — or  fetch  the 
husband  who  was  such  only  in  name,  and  in  reality  a  tor¬ 
ment  and  a  terror,  to  trouble  the  dying  woman?  The  poor 
soul  wished  for  nobody,  asked  for  nobody;  except  that 
toward  dawn,  when  there  was  a  faint  twitter  of  sparrows 
under  the  eaves  outside,  she  opened  her  eyes  and  looked 
wistfully  round. 

‘‘  Whereas  Nanny?" 

“  Asleep  on  her  sofa  there;  but  I  can  lift  her  and  put 
her  beside  you. " 

“  Please,  yes.  Thank  you.  God  bless  you."^^  Many  a 
year  after  Susannah  remembered  that  benediction. 

She  Lifted  the  little  girl,  who  half  waked  up,  and  then 
with  a  contented  murmur  put  her  arm  round  her  mother^s 
neck,  and  went  to  sleep  again.  Susannah  would  have 
moved  it — the  little  soft  arm,  heavy  with  sleep — ^but  the 
mother  refused. 

No — no.  PonT  disturb  the  child/^ 


102 


KIKG  AKTHUR. 


They  were  her  last  words. 

Mrs.  Trevena  had  watched  by  many  a  death-bed,  but  this 
one  was  so  peaceful  that  she  hardly  recognized  it  Avas  such. 
Mother  and  child  dropped  asleep  together  so  quietly  and 
naturally  that  she  thought  the  end  might  not  come  for  a 
good  while  yet.  She  sat,  watching  the  day-break  grow,  little 
by  little,  full  of  many  and  anxious  thoughts,  that  wandered 
far  aAvay  into  the  dim  future,  making  her  forget  the  pres¬ 
ent.  At  last,  hearing  the  church  clock  strike  five,  she  rose 
softly  to  undraw  the  curtain,  and  returning  to  the  bed, 
looked  at  the  sleepers. 

He  had  come — the  great  Divider.  The  child  was  breath¬ 
ing  softly,  in  the  deepest,  happiest  slumber;  the  mother — 
yes!  she  slept  too:  she  Avould  never  Avake  to  sorroAV  any 
more. 

Susannah  lifted  Nanny  in  hel*  arms,  covering  her  face 
with  a  shawl:  and  carried  her,  still  fast  asleep,  into  the 
next  room,  where  she  laid  her  down  in  Arthur’s  bed.  Then 
she  came  back;  closed  the  eyes  and  straightened  the  limbs 
of  the  dead;  and  kneeling  by  the  bedside  AvejDt,  as  she  never 
thought  she  should  have  wept  for  Halbert  Trevena’s  Avife; 
scarcely  Avith  grief — but  Avith  a  tenderness,  the  memory  of 
which  never  departed  from  her  heart. 

When  Captain  Trevena  descended  to  his  usual  late  and 
solitary  breakfast,  he  received  the  news  of  his  AAufe’s  death, 
AA'hich  he  took  so  easily  as  quite  to  relieve  Mrs.  Trevena ’s 
conscience  for  not  having  summoned  him  before. 

‘‘  Poor  dear  girl!  Well — it  Avas  to  be  expected.  I  hope 
she  did  not  suft'er  at  the  last?” 

But  whether  or  not  she  had  sulfercd,  or  how  and  when 
she  died,  he  did  not  stay  to  hear.  His  brother  was  a  great 
deal  more  moved  than  he.  Still,  neither  of  them  asked  to 
enter  the  room,  where,  sweeter  far  in  death  than  in  life, 
the  dead  Avife  and  mother  lay. 

It  was  not  till  nearly  midday  that  Mrs,  Trevena.,  Avh(? 


KIKG  ARTHUK. 


103 


haxl  left  Nanny  still  sound  asleep  in  Artliiir^s  bed,  heard 
through  the  silent  house  a  wild  cry,  and  found  the  child 
standing,  half-dressed  as  she  was,  battering  frantically, 
against  the  locked  door,  and  screaming  aloud  for  Mother!^ ^ 
How  Susannah  got  through  the  next  half-hour,  she 
hardly  knew;  how  she  managed  to  tell  the  child  the  truth, 
and  gradually  to  quiet  her  despair.  But  in  such  crises 
words  often  come  which  seem  like  inspirations;  and  there 
was  Susannah^s  very  silence — in  the  touch  of  her  hand  and 
her  kiss,  something  so  essentially  motherly,  that  the 
motherless  child  at  last  sobbed  herself  to  sleep  on  her 
bosom,  and  was  again  laid  in  Arthur^s  bed. 

Then  Mrs.  Trevena  went  to  her  own;  and  overcome  with 
sheer  exhaustion,  she  too  fell  asleep. 

When  she  woke  up — tiglit,  rough,  boyish  arms  were 
round  her  neck,  and  she  was  almost  smothered  in  kisses. 

“  Mammy,  mammy.  I^e  come  back,  and  I^m  on  the 
Eoll — fifth  on  the  Roll.  IVe  beaten  ninety  boys,  though  I 
never  went  to  school.-  Next  term  I  shall  be  a  Winchester 
boy — and  in  five  years  more  an  Oxford  man — for  ITl  try  to 
get  to  New  College.  I  will,  mother!  How  glad  youTl  be!^^ 

.  And  Arthur  was  very  much  astonished  to  find  his  mother 
weeping  on  his  neck  as  he  had  never  seen  her  weejD  in  all 
his  life  before.  His  had  been  such  a  happy  young  life;  so 
entirely  free  from  the  shadow  of  death — from  every  shadow 
of  every  kind— that  no  wonder  he  was  startled. 

He  had  rushed  in  with  his  joyful  news,  to  find  the  house 
empty  and  silent;  for  the  two  brothers  were  in  the  church¬ 
yard  choosing  a  grave;  and  the  servants  were  all  in  the 
kitchen  talking  things  over.^'’  No  one  had  seen  liim  ar¬ 
rive,  or  told  him  anything. 

I  ran  into  the  dining-room,  and  the  parlor,  and  then 
up  to  my  room — there^s  a  queer  little  girl  fast  asleep  in^ny 
bed — and  then  I  ran  in  here.  Mother,  what  is  the  matter? 
Why  do  you  cry?  Who  has  been  vexing  you?^^ 

Mrs.  Trevena  made  her  son  sit  down  by  her — happy  liv- 


104 


KmG  AETHUil. 


ing  child  and  li\'ing  mother! — and  explained  all  that  had 
happened. 

Some  men,  and  hoys  too,  have  the  best  characteristic  of 
true  manhood — ^tenderness  over  the  weak  and  the  suffering. 
Mrs.  Trevena  had  seen  it  in  Arthur  before  now,  but  never 
so  plainly  as  when  he  went  with  her — of  his  own  accord — 

to  comfoi’t  poor  little  Nanny. 

Nanny  was  awake,  crying  quietly,  but  not  troubling  any¬ 
body;  it  seemed  to  have  been  the  law  of  her  young  life  that 
■  she  was  not  to  trouble  anybody. 

I  have  brought  my  son  to  see  you,  Nanny.  Kiss  her, 
Arthur.  And  the  two' children,  with  the  wonderful  free¬ 
masonry  of  childhood,  kissed  one  another,  and  made  friends 
immediately. 

They  were  a  great  contrast;  one  so  big  and  tall  and 
strong;  handsome  too — ^bright-looking  as  bright-hearted; 
the  other  puny,  dark,  and  plain — nothing  at  all  attractive 
about  her  except  large  pitiful  brown  eyes,  as  pathetic  as  a 
hunted  deer^s.  She  looked  up  in  the  big  boy^s  face,  as  if 
wondering  if  he  too  were  going  to  hurt  her — and  then  she 
began  to  smile. 

Arthur  took  hold  of  the  Childs’s  hand — he  evidently 
thought  her  the  merest  baby;  and  proposed  that  she  should 
go  with  him  to  see  his  big  Newfoundland,  Nero,  and  his 
pretty  pigeons.  And  Nanny  went. 

Thankfully  Mrs.  Trevena  saw  that  Arthur  comforted  the 
poor  little  girl  twenty  times  better  than  she  could  have 
done.  And  it  gladdened  her  to  notice  that  during  the  next 
dreary  three  days  he  did  not  forsake  the  shut-up  house,  or 
get  weary  of  the  heart-broken  and  often  fretful  child.  That 
deep  pity  which  is  always  deepest  in  the  strongest  hearts, 
had  been  awakened  in  the  boy.  He  was  chivalrous,  tender, 
and  patient  too,  with  poor  Nanny,  to  a  degree  that  his 
mother  had  hardly  thought  possible  in  a  lively  active  lad  of 
tliirteen.  But  she  rejoiced — as  she  did  in  every  new  develop- 


KING  AKTHUK.  •  105 

ment  of  cliaracter  wliicli  foretold  wliat  sort  of  man  her 
King  Arthur  would  become. 

He  seemed  to  have  quite,  forgotten  his  own^success,  which 
Mr.  Hardy  said  had  been  most  remarkable.  Hot  a  word 
was  spoken  about  Winchester  until  the  days  of  busy  quiet 
with  death  in  the  house  were  ended,  and  Kanny^s 
mother  had  been  laid  to  rest  in  the  church-yard  close  by. 

Kanny  was  not  at  the  funeral  —  nor  Arthur.  Mrs. 
Trevena  sent  the  children  away  for  a  long  walk  across 
country,  and  when  they  came  back  the  blinds  were  all 
drawn  up  and  the  house  looking  as  usual.  So  Kalmyks 
last  remembrance  of  her  mother  was^ — as  Mrs.  Trevena  had 
determined  it  should  be — ^that  peaceful  falling  asleep  with 
her  arm  round  her  neck,  as  seemed  to  have  been  the  habit 
of  years. 

Captain  Trevena  followed  his  wife  to  the  grave  with  due 
decorum,  and  in  a  new  suit  of  best  black  clothes,  provided 
by  his  brother.  Outsiders  might  have  thought  he  mourned 
sincerely  the  wife  whose  hfe  he  had  made  utterly  miserable. 
Perhaps  he  did  regret  her— for  a  day. 

All  that  evening  he  was  rather  subdued  and  grave;  spoke 
kindly  to  his  daughter,  and  approved  of  her  mourning-dress 
— arranged  like  everything  else,  by  her  ‘‘  kindest  of  aunts 
—to  whom  he  left  every  responsibility.  Except  a  passing 
remark  about  ‘  ‘  a  little  ring — a  sort  of  crystal,  of  no  partic¬ 
ular  value  — which,  if  she  found,  he  should  like  to  have, 
to  wear  in  remembrance  of  my  late  dear  wife  — except 
this  observation,  which  Mrs.  Trevena  never  answered,  he 
asked  no  question  about  an3dhing.  In  truth  there  was 
nothing  to  inquire  about.  Save  the  clothes  they  had  on, 
mother  and  child  seemed  to  have  possessed  scarcely  a  rag  in 
the  world. 

Captain  Trevena  was  better  off.  And  when  at  supper¬ 
time  he  announced  that  he  should  want  Bob  Bates  to  carry 
his  portmanteau  to  the  nearest  station,  as  he  thought  of  go- 


106 


KING  AETHUK. 


ing  to  London — “  for  a  few  days^  rest  and  change  — no¬ 
body  attempted  to  hinder  him. 

He  went,  and  it  was  a  relief  when  he  was  gone.  To  see 
Nanny,  whom  he  had  forgotten  to  say  good-bye  to,  break 
into  a  broad  smile  of  happiness  when  told  her  father  had 
departed,  was  the  most  piteous  condemnation  that  any  fa¬ 
ther  could  have  earned. 

‘‘  Mother,  I  hate  that  man!  He  is  no  more  like  my  papa 
than — than — words  failed  to  Arthur^ s  youthful  indigna¬ 
tion.  ITl  never  call  him  ‘  Uncle  ^  as  long  as  I  live.'’^ 
You  need  not/^  answered  the  mother,  gravely.  ‘‘  He 
is  not  your  uncle,  and  Nanny  is  not  your  cousin;  but  you 
can  always  call  her  so. 

‘‘  I  will! — and  Fll  protect  her  to  the  end  of  my  days. 
And  Arthur  looked  as  if  he  knew  how  much  she  needed 
protection— which,  very  likely,  he  did  know,  though  with 
the  not  uncommon  reticence  of  childhood  the  two  young 
creatures  kept  their  own  counsel.  It  had  been  one  of  the 
chivalrous  teachings  of  “  King  Arthur ^s  mother  to  her 

boy — Never  complain!^'’ 

No  one  was  much  surprised,  or  very  sorry,  when  a  whole 
week  passed,  and  Captain  Trevena  did  not  reappear.  Mean¬ 
time,  Mrs.  Trevena,  who  never  let  grass  grow  under  her 
feet  when  there  was  anything  to  be  done,  had  written  to 
the  address  which  Nanny  gave  her^ — ^the  child  was  a  curious 
mixture  of  babyishness  and  sad  precocity — and  had  received 
a  neatly  written  and  kindly  worded  letter,  signed  ‘‘  Anasta¬ 
sia  Grogan,^ ^  saying  the  writer  would  be  glad  to  receive  her 
goddaughter  immediately,  in  her  quiet  home  at  Bath. 

I  will  take  Nanny  there  myself,  said  Susannah,  ex¬ 
plaining  to  her  husband  the  dead  mother  ^s  wish,  and  obey¬ 
ing  it  by  not  even  telling  nim  Miss  Grogan’s  address:  Austin 
was  too  tender-hearted  to  be  trusted  with  a  secret  that  con¬ 
cerned  his  clever  brother.  ‘‘  And  I  think  I  will  take  her 
at  once.^^ 

For  she  felt  that  with  the  then  existing  English  law. 


KIKG  AUTaUK. 


107 


which  even  yet  maintains  the  fiction  of  mediaeval  and  an¬ 
cient  days,  that  a  many’s  wife  and  children  are  his  mere 
goods  and  chattels  to  deal  with  as  he  chooses,  it  would  not 
be  safe  to  wait  Captain  Trevena^s  return. 

Susannah  was  not  a  coward.  She  was  determined,  by 
fair  means  or  foul,  to  snatch  this  poor  innocent — a  girl  too 
— out  of  her  father ^s  lands;  to  circumvent  him,  and  the 
law  too,  if  necessary,  by  all  possible  means.  She  had  no 
conscience-stings — no  scruple  about  parental  rights — there 
can  be  no  rights  where  duties  are  left  unfulfilled. 

“  God  gave  me  no  children,^'’  she  sighed  to  herself,  as 
she  watched  Arthur  and  Nanny  at  play  in  the  garden — 
Nanny  had  blossomed  out  like  a  fiower  in  that  one  Weeks’s 
peace  and  love.  ‘‘  But  I  have  saved  one  child:  perhaps  it 
may  be  His  will  that  I  shall  help  to  save  another. 

So,  one  fine  morning — leaving  aline  for  Austin,  wdio  had 
gone  to  a  diocesan  meeting — she  started  with  the  two,  for 
she  dared  not  leave  Arthur  behind,  and,  besides,  he  was 
comj)any  for  Nanny.  Her  heart  melted  as  she  wrote  the 
brief  note,  almost  the  first  since  her  marriage,  to  her  ‘‘  be¬ 
loved  husband,  ”  from  whom  she  had  never  been  parted  for 
a  day.  She  knew  her  departure  would  vex  and  grieve  him, 
but  he  would  be  glad  afterw^ard.  For  sometimes,  in  the 
relief  and  peace  of  his  brothers  absence,  the  rector  had  be- 
gmi  to  notice  his  little  niece,  and  once  had  even  taken  her 
on  his  knee,  and  remarked  that  she  had  ‘‘  the  Trevena 
hands. 

“  She  is,  after  all,  the  last  of  the  Trevenas — his  own  fiesh 
and  blood;  if  I  can  save  her,  Austin  will  be  glad.'’^ 

So  thought  the  faithful  wife — faithful,  though  stern — as 
the  train  whirled  her  away  to  Bath,  she  sitting  silent,  and 
her  two  “  children  opposite  chattering  like  a  couple  of 
magpies.  Two  children — neither  of  them  her  own,  yet  God 
seemed  to  have  given  them  to  her,  and  she  accepted  the 
trust.  If  she  could  only  make  them  His  children,  her  life 
would  not  have  been  in  vain. 


108 


KIKG  ARTHTTK. 


Had  Miss  vrrogan  proved  unsatisfactory,  she  had  deter¬ 
mined,  at  all  risk  and  cost,  to  bring  Nanny  hack  to  the 
rectory;  but  it  was  needless.  She  found  a  bright  little 
house,  on  the  top  of  one  of  the  pleasant  Bath  hills,  and  in 
it  a  bright  little  woman — Irish,  certainly,  but  of  that  type 
of  Irishwoman  which  English  folk  are  so  slow  to  believe  in. 
Tidy,  accurate,  methodical;  keeping  her  house  in  apple- 
pie  order, and  herself  ‘‘  as  neat  as  a  new  pin;’^  to  these 
proverbially  un-Irish  qualities  Miss  Grogan  added  others, 
which  even  enemies  allow  to  the  children  of  the  Emerald 
Isle — a  warm  heart,  a  blithe  spirit,  quick  sympathy,  and 
ready  generosity.  Withal,  that  most  desirable  thing  in  man 
or  woman — courage.  Elderly  as  she  was,  there  was  a 
sparkle  in  Miss  Grogan^  s  soft  Irish  eyes  which  showed  that 
she  knew  how  to  defend  a  friend  and  to  face  a  foe.  Susan¬ 
nah  felt  instinctively  that  the  poor  feeble  dead  woman  had 
judged  rightly.  Here  was  the  right  person  to  bring  up, 
and,  if  necessary,  to  protect,  the  worse  than  orphan 
child. 

“  Yes,  I  know  him,  was  all  Miss  Grogan  said  of  Halbert 
Trevena.  ‘‘  I  agree  with  you;  the  best  thing  we  can  do  for 
Nanny  is  never  to  mention  her  father’s  name,  ‘  Non  ragio- 
nam  de  lor,  ma  guarda  e  passa,  ’  ”  added  she,  with  a  little 
innocent  pedantry — she  was  evidently  a  well-educated 
woman.  And  so  the  subject  ended. 

For  a  long  time  the  godmother  refused  to  accept  any 
money  for  Nanny,  but  finally  her  Irish  pride  had  to  sub¬ 
mit  to  her  evidently  narrow  means,  and  the  practical  com¬ 
mon  sense  of  Mrs.  Trevena;  and  it  was  agreed  that  a  fair 
annual  payment  should  be  guaranteed  by  Nanny’s  uncle 
and  aunt,  if  they  both  lived. 

And  if  we  die,”  said  Susannah,  “  there  is  still  this  dia¬ 
mond  ring.” 

‘‘ I  know  it  of  old.  ” 

“  He  says  it  is  ‘  of  no  particular  value.’  ” 

“  Let  us  find  out,”  was  the  answer,  with  a  smile,  that 


KING  ARTHUil.  lOO 

might  have  been  called  sarcastic^,  had  not  Miss  Grogan  been 
such  a  very  pleasant  old  lady. 

So  the  two  elders  went — the  two  children  following — 
down  into  the  pleasant  streets  of  Bath,  to  a  jeweler^s,  there, 
and  found  that  the  diamond,  though  roughly  set,  was  of 
great  value — probably  worth  three  or  four  hundred  pounds. 

Susannah  breathed  with  new  relief  and  thankfulness. 

“  Then,  in  any  case,  the  cliild  will  not  be  destitute. 
Should  we  die  before  she  is  grown  up,  it  will  suffice  to  edu¬ 
cate  lier.  Do  you  hear,  Nanny?'’'’  for  she  felt  it  better  that 
the  child,  who  knew  so  much,  should  know  everything. 
‘‘This  ring  is  yours,  your  grandfather ^s  gift:  it  is  worth 
several  hundred  pounds,  and  you  shall  have  it  when  you  are 
twenty-one,  or  when  you  marry. 

“  I  donT  mean  to  marry — mamma  told  me  not — it  would 
only  make  me  miserable,^  ^  said  the  child,  her  tears  begin¬ 
ning  to  flow,  as  they  always  did  when  she  spoke  of  her 
mother;  but  the  consoler  was  at  hand.  She  turned  to  him 
gratefully — “  Yes,  I  tliink  I  will  marry — Fll  marry  you, 
Cousin  Arthur — and  then  you  will  get  the  diamond' ring.'’^ 

Arthur  blushed — school-boy  fashion;  and  Miss  Grogan 
said  primly,  “  My  dear,  you  are  too  young  to  talk  about 
such  things.-’^  Mrs.  Trevena  said  nothing,  but  was  con¬ 
scious  of  a  queer  sensation,  scarcely  an  arrow — more  like  a 
pin-prick — at  her  heart,  for  which  she  laughed  at  herself, 
but  did  not  get  rid  of  it — not  for  days. 

She  left  Nanny  quite  content,  for  her  godmother  was 
evidently  well  remembered  by  her;  and  there  had  appeared 
at  tea-time  two  little  girls,  Australian-born,  who  had  been 
confided  to  Miss  Grogan  for  education.  These  young  com¬ 
panions  lessened  the  grief  of  parting  with  Arthur:  and 
Arthur  himself  seemed  to  feel  he  had  done  his  utmost  duty 
to  “  only  a  girl,'’^  and  might  now  plunge  back  into  boy-life, 
and  tell  his  mother  all  about  the  delight  of  Winchester. 

No  tongue  can  tell  the  relief  it  was  when  Susannah  found 
herself  sitting  in  the  rectory  parlor — alone  with  her  very 


KIKG  ARTnUK. 


110 

own  two,  her  husband  and  son,  and  nobody  else!  The 
storm  had  'come  and  gone;  she  had  borne  it,  and  done  her 
duty  through  it — her  utmost  duty — and  now  the  sky  was 
clear,  at  least  for  a  time. 

Alas,  no!  When  Arthur  went  to  bed  she  told  her  hus¬ 
band  as  much  as  it  seemed  desirable  to  tell  about  little 
I^anny^s  affairs,  to  which  Mr.  Trevena  listened  with  his 
usual  absent-mindedness.  The  worried  look  gradually  re¬ 
turned  to  his  face;  till  at  last,  when  Susannah  asked  the 
natural  question,  ‘‘  Any  letters?’’  he  drew  one  out  of  his 
pocket.  It  was  the  long-familiar  handwriting  that  always 
foreboded  trouble. 

“  This  came  yesterday,  but  I  would  not  answer  it  till  you 
returned  home.  Eead  it,  and  tell  me  what  you  think.” 

It  was  one  of  those  lucky  chances  which  few  men’s  lives 
are  quite  without;  which  had  come  again  and  again  to  Hal¬ 
bert  Trevena,  and  been  throw  away.  An  old  friend  of  the 
family,  whom  he  had  just  met  accidentally,  after  having 
lost  sight  of  him  for  years,  had  offered  him  a  situation  abroad, 
at  a  tea-garden  in  Ceylon;  a  bo7ia  fide  offer,  for  he  inclosed 
the  letter  in  which  it  was  made — a  most  kind  letter  from 
an  old  man,  who  knew  scarcely  anything  of  him,  except 
that  he  was  a  Trevena.  It  seemed  to  have  touched  that 
callous  heart.  Though  there  would  be  hard  work  and 
little  pay,  Hal  wished  to  accept  the  situation,  and  asked  his 
brother  “  for  really  the  last  time  ”  to  assist  him;  to  pay  his 
passage  and  give  him  a  small  outfit  to  begin  a  new  life  in 
a  new  land.  ” 

He  may  prosper  there,  he  is  so  clever,”  said  Austin. 
“  And  not  very  old — only  a  year  older  than  I.  ”  Indeed  he 
looked  much  younger,  having  siicli  a  splendid  physique,  and 
what  some  cynical  physician  has  called  the  secret  of  long 
life — “  a  good  digestion,  and  no  heart  to  speak  of.  ”  Who 
knows,  Susannah,  but  that  poor  Hal  might  do  well  yet?” 

Susannah,  loath  to  wound  this  pathetic,  lingering, 
fraternal  love,  replied  that  it  was  just  possible.”  At  any 


KIKG  ARTHUR.  Ill 

rate,  she  felt  that  some  sacrifice  was  worth  making,  if  only 
to  get  rid  of  him. 

So  the  money  was  sent,  though  not  in  coin,  the  passage 
being  paid  to  the  ship’s  agent,  and  the  outfitter’s  bill 
ordered  to  be  forwarded  to  the  rectory:  precautions  not  un¬ 
necessary.  Hal  did  not  resent  them;  he  never  resented 
anything,  and  always  accepted  everything.  About  his 
daughter  he  asked  not  a  single  question;  nor  even  named 
her,  until  his  farewell  letter,  when  apologizing  for  having  no 
time  to  come  to  Tawton,  he  said  that  he  left  her  with  en¬ 
tire  confidence  ”  to  the  care  of  her  uncle  and  aunt. 

‘‘Poor  fellow!  Perhaps  I  may  never  set  eyes  on  him 
again — the  climate  of  Geylon  is  very  bad,  they  say.  Would 
there  be  any  chance  of  seeing  him  off  from  Southampton?” 

There  was  a  pathos  in  Mr.  Trevena’s  look  which  his  wife 
could  not  resist.  Much  as  it  often  irritated  her,  she  could  not 
but  see,  with  a  tenderness  approaching  to  reverence,  how 
deep  in  this  good  man’s  heart  lay  that  divine  charity  which 
“  believeth  all  things — hopeth  all  things.  ”  The  journey 
would  be  a  trouble  and  expense,  and  the  family  finances 
were  already  sorely  strained — would  be  more  so  by  the  pay¬ 
ment  for  Nanny.  Not  for  Arthur:  oh!  with  what  glad  pride 
did  she  refiect  that  Arthur’s  education  would  cost  Mr. 
Trevena  almost  nothing.  She  calculated  a  little,  and  then 
said: 

“  If  you  like,  Austin,  we  will  go  to  Southampton  at 
once.  ” 

“  You  too?”  she  said  joyfully.  And  they  started:  their 
first  journey  together  for  many  a  long  year.  It  felt  almost 
like  a  honey-moon. 

Susannah  had  almost  expected  not  to  see  her  brother-in- 
law — hut  he  was  there.  He  seemed  really  to  have  “  turned 
over  a  new  leaf  ” — as  people  say — though  alas!  tlie  new 
leaf  often  gets  as  blurred  and  blotted  as  the  old  one!  He 
met  them  with  even  more  than  his  customary  empressementy 
and  the  trio  had  a  peaceful  and  pleasant  dinner  together  at 


112 


KING  AETHUR. 


the  hotel  before  joining  that  company,  sad  and  strange— 
which  goes  on  board  every  P.  and  0.  steamer  with  last  fare¬ 
wells. 

Their  adieus  were,  however,  no  heart-break  to  any  one. 
Captain  Trevena  was  in  exuberant  spirit^.  The  newly 
made  widower  might  have  been  a  gay  young  bachelor  be¬ 
ginning  the  world,  free  as  air,  with  not  a  cloud  of  regret  or 
remorse  upon  his  heart. 

How  is  Hanny?'"’  he  did  once  ask;  but  he  never  waited 
for  an  answer;  and  soon  after  said — quite  carelessly  as  it 
seemed:  By  the  bye,  have  you  brought  the  little  ring  I 

wished  for? — not  that  it  is  worth  much,  but  I  should  like 
to  wear  it  in  memory  of  my  late  dear  wife.^^ 

For  an  instant  Susannah  was  silent  with  indignant  con- 
temjit;  then  she  said^  in  a  manner  that  he  could  not  mis¬ 
take: 

I  know  exactly  what  the  ring  is  worth,  for  I  have  had 
it  valued  by  a  jeweler.  But  it  is  not  yours — it  is  Nanny ^s 
— left  her  by  her  grandfather.  I  shall  keep  it  for  her  till 
she  is  twenty-one. 

The  devil  you  willP^  And  truly  the  devil  himself 
glared  out  of  the  angiy  eyes,  and  spoke  in  the  muttered 
execration  which  followed.  But  Captain  Trevena  had  been 
checkmated — or  rather  he  had  checkmated  himself :  and  it 
was  too  late  now,  except  for  furious  looks  and  words,  which 
fell  harmless  upon  the  little  woman  before  him.  He  might 
as  well  have  stormed  against  a  stone — and  he  knew  it. 

However,  he  Thought  it  wiser  to  let  all  pass.  His  hand¬ 
some  face  recovered  its  usual  bland  smile,  and  by  the  time 
that  All  on  shore  was  called  out,  he  was  ready  with  a 
cheery  good-bye. 

It  really  was  most  kind  of  you,  Austin,  to  come  and  see 
me  off.  Give  my  love  to  Nanny.  Say,  I  leave  her  in 
charge  of  the  best  of  uncles — and  aunts  (with  a  bow  in 
wdiich  it  was  difficult  to  say  whether  politeness  or  sarcasm 
predominated).  “  Good-bye  to  you  both — good-bye.^^ 


KING  AHTHUR. 


113 


\ 

They  left  him  kissing  his  hand^  to  them  as  he  leaned  over 
I  the  ship^s  side;  but  almost  before  Susannah  ventured  to 
speak  to  her  husband,  who  had  turned  aside,  the  tears  run¬ 
ning  down  his  cheeks,  she  saw  Halbert  laughing  and  talking 
with  some  ladies:  he  had  already  made  acquaintance  with 
several  of  the  passengers,  and  before  reaching  Suez  would 
doubtless  be  the  most  popular  man  on  board. 

“Ho  need  to  grieve  for  hini,'’^  she  thought,  but  said  noth¬ 
ing.  Hor  did  her  husband.  All  the '  under  tragedies  of 
life  are  often  acted — and  perhaps  best — in  total  silence. 

“  Hal  may  do  well  yet,^^  Mr.  Trevena  said,  as  a  sort 
of  remorseful  balance-weight  against  the  deep  sense  of 
relief  that  they  both  felt  in  coming  back,  they  two  alone, 
to  their  peaceful  home.  Except  for  that  grave,  equally 
peaceful,  in  the  church-yard  hard  by,  all  the  last  weeks 
might  have  been  a  painful  dream.  Once  more  the  rector 
and  his  wife  saufi^tered  leisurely  up  and  down  the  peach- 
tree  walk,  and  Arthur  went  back  to  his  lessons,  and  was 
forever  asking  his  papa  about  old  Winchester  days — which 
the  old  Wykehamite  recalled  with  utmost  enthusiasm — the 
days  “  when  Hal  and  I  were  boys  together;^'’  only  one  was 
an  idler  and  the  other  a  worker.  Still — Austin  often  ended 
with  the  sigh — •“  But  Hal  may  do  well  yet.^"’ 

He  might  have  done — though  it  is  seldom  that  at  the 
eleventh  hour  the  Ethiopian  changes  his  skin  and  the 
leopard  his  spots — but  fate — cruel  or  merciful,  who  dare 
say! — ordained  it  otherwise. 

Three  days  after  he  sailed  the  daily  newspaper  brought  to 
the  rectory,  and  to  many  another  English  home,  tidings  of 
one  of  those  disasters  at  sea,  which  not  seldom  happen  to 
outward-bound  ships — a  collision  in  the  Channel.  The  emi¬ 
grant  ship~a  miserable  unseaworthy  craft — went  down  im¬ 
mediately,  but  the  passengers  and  crew  of  the  large  steamer 
did  their  best  to  save  all  the  lives  they  could,  launching 
boats,  and  helping  the  drowning  wretches  to  climb  on 
board.  One  passenger  in  particular,  it  was  said,  had  as' 


A 


114 


KIKG  AKTHUR. 


Bisted  many,  holding  on  at  the  ship’s  side,  and  throwing 
out  from  thence  ropes  and  life-preservers.  But  the  vessel 
gave  a  lurch — he  fell  overboard — and  never  rose  again. 
The  name  of  this  brave  passenger,  it  was  ascertained,  was 
Halbert  Trevena. 

So  all  was  over.  Ho  more  hope — nor  fear.  His  death, 
more  honorable  than  ever  his  life  had  been,  covered  over  its 
many  shortcomings — or  sins.  Captain  Trovena’s  heroic 
conduct  ^  ^  was  mentioned  in  the  newspapers :  and  for  months 
after,  letters  of  condolence,  admiration  and  gratitude, 
reached  the  rectory  from  friends  and  strangers.  Ho  one 
could  have  desired  a  more  lauded  or  lamented  end. 

Scarcely  a  melancholy  end,  Susannah  sometimes  thought. 
For  his  last  act  had  been  perhaps  the  noblest  in  his  life. 
Better  he  should  die  as  he  did,  and  when  he  did,  and  be 
spoken  of  with  praise  and  remembered  with  tenderness. 
She  thought,  with  untold  thankfulness,  of  that  journey  to 
Southampton,  and  how  the  brothers  had  parted  in  peace, 
with  kindly  good  wishes,  hopes  and  prayers — which  perhaps 
Heaven  had  answered  in  its  own  way. 

There  was  no  need  to  go  and  console  Hannyfor  the  death 
of  a  parent  who  had  never  been  such  to  her  excej^t  in  name 
— but  Mrs.  Trevena  collected  carefully  all  that  the  news¬ 
papers  had  said  in  his  praise,  and  every  letter  which  reached 
the  rectory  concerning  him,  asking  Miss  Grogan  to  keep 
them  or  Hanny,  and  teach  the  child  to  forget  everything 
about  her  father  except  his  blameless  and  heroic  end. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Youkg  lovers  are  a  sweet  and  pleasant  sight:  and  so  are 
young  married  people,  absorbed  in  their  present  bliss,  with 
the  future  stretching  out  before  them,  all  in  a  golden  haze. 
But  the  sweetest  and  sacredest  sight  of  all  is  an  elderly 
couple  to  whoin  hope  has  become  certainty:  whose  future 


kiKG  AETIItJii. 


115 


haji  narrowed  down  to  a  quiet  present — ^yet  wdio  love  one 
aaotlier  still,  and  by  the  strength  and  perfectness  of  that 
love  are  able  to  enjoy  Now,  without  regretting  Then. 

Thus  it  was  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Trevena.  Though  mar¬ 
ried  late  in  life,  their  real  union  had  begun  so  early,  that 
neither  had  a  past  or  desired  a  future  in  which  the  other  had 
no  share.  Of  course,  their  felicity  had  not  been  unclouded: 
what  human  happiness  is?  But  “  the  little  rift  within  the 
lute  — which  .happens  in  almost  all  marriages,  and  has 
power  in  many  to  make  the  music  mute/^ — ^liad  been 
closed  by  wise  hands;  partly  the  hand  of  Providence,  and 
partly — let  it  be  honestly  said! — their  own.  There  is  no 
marriage  which  can  not  be  made  unhappy — there  are  few 
marriages  which  can  not  be  made  less  unhappy — if  the 
parties  concerned  so  choose. 

Austin  and  Susannah  had  not  grown  less  happy  as  they 
grew  older — rather  the  contrary.  He  no  longer  sacrificed 
everything,  his  wife  included,  on  the  shrine  of  what  is  called 

family  duty — a  religion  which,  begun  in  the  noblest 
faith,  sometimes  degenerates  into  a  mere  fetish -worship  of 
what  is  essentially  mean  and  base.  And  Susannah,  when, 
also  out  of  duty,  she  let  her  boy  become  a  school-boy,  and 
contented  herself  with  only  seeing  him  in  the  holidays — was 
saved  from  that  passion  of  maternal  idolatry  which  might 
liave  proved  equally  fatal  for  him,  for  her,  and  for  her  hus¬ 
band.  Gradually  she  learned  the  inevitable  lesson  of  all 
mothers — to  sit  still  and  see  tlieir  children  happy  on  their 
own  account.  Not  ceasing  to  make  them  happy ,^but  ceas¬ 
ing  to  feel  wounded  because  the  new  generation  was  a  hap¬ 
piness  apart  from  the  old. 

When  Arthur’s  letters  came,  brimful  of  enjoyment — 
Greek  and  football,  cricket,  music,  and  mathematics  being 
inextricably  muddled  up  together — for  the  young  ‘‘  King  ” 
verified  the  adage  of  “  good  at  work,  good  at  play;”  full 
too  of  Winchester  slang,  which  Mr.  Trevena  recalled  with 
delight,  and  protested  was  not  vulgar  at  all,  but  only  archaic 


116 


KiXG  ABTHUft. 


and  historical — the  unexacting  mother  read  the  brief  post¬ 
script — How  are  you  all  at  horne?^^  and  did  not  expect 
more.  She  knew  her  darling  loved  her  in  his  heart;  and 
that  the  thirteen  years  during  which  she  had  had  him  all 
to  herself,  to  train  both  mind  and  body  in  the  right  w^ay, 
would  never  be  lost,  but  bear  fruit  in  time  to  come. 

Yet,  when  he  returned,  after  a  few  months,  a*  regular 
Winchester  boy,  at  first  he  seemed  something  new  and 
strange.  He  had  grown  very  tall;  and,  it  could  not  be  de¬ 
nied,  promised  to  be  extremely  handsome;  even  though  he 
had  cropped  his  curly  hair  in  the  cruelest  way,  and  scarred 
his  long  slender  hands  with  knife-cuts;  nay,  as  he  told  his 
mother  with  great  pride,  had  been  within  an  inch  of  break¬ 
ing  his  beautiful  Roman  nose.  Still,  despite  these  draw¬ 
backs,  when  he  went  to  church  with  her  the  first  Sunday, 
he  was  a  boy  that  most  people  w^ould  have  turned  round  to 
look  at,  and  whom  any  mother  would  be  proud  to  have 
standing  by  her  side,  and  singing  away — “like  a  cheru¬ 
bim  — one  old  woman  in  the  congregation  said — with  the 
waning  beauty  of  his  boyish  voice,  which  had  made  liim 
already  notable  in  the  Winchester  choir. 

Whether  or  not  Arthur  will  turn  out  handsome,  he 
certainly  looks  every  inch  a  gentleman,^ ^  she  said  to  her 
husband  as  they  took  their  peaceful  stroll  between  services, 
up  and  down  the  peach-tree  walk. 

“  All  Wykehamites  are  gentlemen,^^  the  rector  answered 
with  pardonable  prejudice. 

But  she  had  meant  something  more  than  that.  What 
is  bred  in  the  bone  will  come  out  in  the  flesh  — is  a  truth 
which  there  is  no  gainsaying.  All  the  education  in  the 
world  would  never  have  put  into  Arthur  what  did  not  in¬ 
herently  exist  there.  There  must  have  been  good  material, 
natural  or  hereditary,  to  work  upon.  How,  far  more  than 
when  he  was  a  baby — her  own  innocent,  helpless  baby — did 
Susannah  speculate  about  him,  noticing  every  new  develoj)- 
ment,  and  contrasting  him  with  other  children.  Especially  • 


lOTG  ARTHtJKi  117 

Witli  ^  Kant>y,  who  shortly  after  also  came  home  for  the 
holidays. 

The  ‘‘last  of  the  Trevenas/^  as  her  uncle  sometimes 
pathetically  called  her^  was,  Mrs.  T  revena  thought,  very 
inferior  to  her  own  Arthur.  IN'anny  was  a  good  little  girl; 
but  she  was  prim  and  quiet,  taciturn  and  plain.  She  could 
not  compare  at  all  with  the  big  school-boy — ^full  of  life, 
health,  and  activity.  Not  that  Arthur  was  ever  unkind  to 
her;  but  he  just  ignored  her,  as  school-boys  do  ignore  little 
girls,  unless  specially  attractive.  He  tried  to  be  civil  and 
jDolite — ^brought  her  flowers  and  condescendingly  took  her  a 
walk  now  and  then;  but  he  told  his  mother  confidentially 
that  “Nanny  was  a  big  baby^^ — and  escaped  from  her 
society  whenever  he  politely  could.  At  which  poor  Nanny 
used  to  look  so  miserable,  that  Mrs.  Trevena  considered 
seriously  whether  it  would  not  be  better  in  future  to  ar¬ 
range  the  child  ^s  home-coming  at  a  different  time  from 
Arthur^  s. 

But  next  year  Fate  took  the  decision  out  of  her  hands; 
for  Miss  Grogan  had  a  severe  illness,  and  Nanny,  with  a 
resolution  which  her  uncle  and  aunt  had  not  exj)ected  in  so 
small  a  child,  absolutely  refused  to  leave  her. 

“  Nanny  always  was  a  devoted  little  creature,  said  Mrs. 
Trevena,  remembering  those  few  days  in  the  sick-room — 
the  room  of  death.  But  still  she  was  not  sorry  to  have  her 
boy  all  to  herself  for  those  brief,  too  brief  holiday  weeks; 
when  she  could  watch  him  growing  up  to  manhood — the 
delight  of  her  heart — the  desire  of  her  eyes. 

He  was  in  truth  a  very  fine  young  fellow.  At  sixteen  he 
was  little  short  of  six  feet  high.  Slender  and  supple  as  a 
willow-wand,  yet  not  lanky;  very  muscular  and  strong  for 
his  age.  He  was  good  at  all  athletic  sports,  and  made  as 
much  use  of  his  body  as  he  did  of  his  brains.  His  mother'’ s 
maxim,  “  Better  to  wear  out  than  rust  out,^^  seemed  ex¬ 
emplified  in  “  King  Arthur — though  he  did  not  seem 
likely  to  Wear  out  for  the  next  threescore  years  at  least;  for 


118 


klHU  ARTHUH 


tlie  wliolesonie  upbringing  of  liis  childhood  had  resulted  in 
a  healthy  youth,  and  bade  fair  to  develop  into  a  splendid 
manhood. 

Often  when  she  looked  at  him,  she  wondered  whence  all 
this  came — this  wealth  of  physical  and  mental  power; 
much  as  Merlin  must  have  wondered,  when  he  saw  grow 
up  under  his  eyes  the  “  little  naked  child;”  naked  of  every 
hereditary  blessing;  owing  fortune  nothing^ — not  even  a 
name. 

The  hoys  always  call  you  Trevena?”  she  once  said  to 
him,  anxiously.  ‘‘  They — they  ask  no  questions?” 

Arthur  blushed,  as  he  had  done  more  than  once  lately 
when  strangers  made  unconscious  ignorant  remarks;  such 
as  noticing  his  height,  and  saying  he  ‘  ‘  took  after  his  papa.  ” 
They  did  chaff  me  at  first,  mother — just  a  little.  And 
one  fellow  called  me  Nemo — but  I  thrashed  him  to  within 
an  inch  of  his  life.  And  then  I  told  the  other  fellows  the 
plain  truth  about  myself,  as  you  advised  me.  Nobody  ever 
said  an  ill  word  to  me  afterward.  ” 

So,  already  had  begun  for  Arthur  that  battle  with  the 
world,  from  which  his  mother  coidd  not  defend  him — she 
could  only  give  him  strength  for  the  conflict. 

“  That  was  well,”  she  answered,  gently.  Indeed,  I 
thinK:  only  a  ‘  sneak  ^  or  a  ‘  cad,  ^  as  you  call  them,  would 
have  been  unkind  to  you.  A  name  and  even  a  family  are 
not  worth  much  sometimes — were  not  to  jDOor  little  Sir 
Eustace  Damerel,  who  died  last  Christmas.  We  shall  see 
what  the  new  Damerel s  will  be  like.  They  came  to  Taw- 
ton  Abbas  last  week,  and  will  likely  be  at  church  next 
Sunday.  ” 

Thus  said  she,  to  turn  away  her  boy’s  thoughts  from 
himself.  But  she  need  not  have  feared— Arthur’s  nature 
was  too  wholesome,  and  his  youth  too  full  of  hope  and 
brightness,  to  have  any  morbid  or  sentimental  feelings 
about  either  his  origin  or  his  future  lot.  ^  And  Winchester 
had  not  made  him  oblivious  of  Tawton  Magna.  He  took 


KING  AKTHUK. 


119 


the  vividest  interest  in  hearing  about  the  Damerels — Sir 
Charles  and  his  lady;  who  had  Inherited  the  title  and  es¬ 
tates,  and  come  to  reside  at  the  great  house — ^which,  being 
the  only  house  except  f9;rm-houses  for  miles  round,  was  a 
matter  of  some  importance  to  the  rectory. 

Do  yon  mean  to  call  there,  mother?  You  ought,^^ 
said  Arthur — who  was  a  little  given  to  laying  down  the 
law — as  is  not  uncommon  at  sixteen.  ‘‘  Are  they  young 
folks  or  old?  Have  they  got  any  children?'’^ 

“  I  believe  they  are  rather  elderly  people;  distant  cousins, 
whom  nobody  ever  heard  about  till  lately.  And  I  think, 
but  I  am  not  sure — they  have  no  children. 

At  which  Arthur  ^s  interest  died  down — ^he  said  he  didnH 
care  for  “  old  fogies.'’^  And  next  Sunday  he  scarcely 
glanced  in  the  direction  of  the  Tawton  Abbas  pew,  where, 
in  the  two  arm-chairs  which  had  stood  there  for  genera¬ 
tions  back,  sat  the  new  Baronet  and  Lady  Damerel.  They 
sat,  with  dead  Damerels  underfoot  and  monuments  to  the 
same  overhead — the  last  representatives  of  the  race.  Only 
their  two  selves;  though  report  declared  they  had  had 
several  children — all  dead  now.  Susannah  wondered  how 
a  childless  couple  should  ever  have  cared  to  claim  either 
title  or  property. 

Of  course  they  were  stared  at  eagerly  by  the  whole  con¬ 
gregation.  A  curious  pair — she,  a  fine-looking,  fashionable 
woman,  with  a  complexion  much  too  fair  and  hair  much 
too  dark  for  her  age;  but  the  simple  villagers  suspected 
nothing,  and  set  her  down  as  being  younger  than  her  hus¬ 
band,  who  was  a  feeble-lookmg,  melancholy  little  man, 
nigh  upon  seventy.  Two  footmen  had  helped  him  into 
church,  and  set  him  in  his  chair,  whence  he  never  moved, 
for  his  feet  and  hands  were  all  knotted  and  distorted  with 
rheumatism.  But  he  had  a  mild  and  not  un]pleasing  face — 
aristocratic — aquiline — ‘‘as  big  a  nose  as  mine, Arthur 
said,  in  commenting  upon  them  after  church.  “  But,  oh) 
I  wouldnT  be  Sir  Charles  Damerel  for  the  worldB' 


120 


KIKG  AETHUR. 


“  Nor  I  Lady  Damerel/^  said  Mrs.  Trevena.  Poor 
woman — what  an  unhappy  face!  No  wonder,  if  she  has 
lost  all  her  children. 

And  Susannah  almost  regretted  having  stopped  to  speak 
to  them  at  the  church  door,  introducing  herself  as  the 
rector’s  wife,  and  Arthur  as  my  son.”  How  she  must 
envy  me!”  thought  the  tender-hearted  soul,  and  blamed 
herself  for  flaunting  before  the  childless  woman  her  own 
superior  bliss. 

‘‘  I  don’t  think  Lady  Damerel’s  children  could  have  been 
very  fond  of  her,”  remarked  Arthur  sententiously.  “  She 
may  be  good-looking,  but  she  has  the  hardest  and  most  un¬ 
pleasant  face  I  ever  saw.  My  little  mammy  is  worth  a 
hundred  of  her,”  added  he,  putting  his  arm  round  his 
mother’s  waist  as  of  old;  he  was  now  growing  past  the  age 
when  boys  are  ashamed  of  their  mothers,  and  he  petted  and 
patronized  her  to  her  heart’s  content. 

Still,  he  was  too  much  of  the  school-boy  to  care  to  go 
about  visiting,”  and  absolutely  declined — unless  she  par¬ 
ticularly  wished  it — to  accompany  her  to  Tawton  Abbas,  or 
make  acquaintance  with  that  horrid  old  couple;”  over 
whom  she  had  such  unnecessary  compassion  that  even  the 
rector  smiled. 

‘^My  dear  Susannah,  I  can’t  see  that  Lady  Damerel 
needs  the  least  pity — or  desires  it.  I  hear  she  is  a  most . 
accomplished  woman;  will  fill  the  house  with  brilliant 
society,  and  be  popular  ever3rwhere.  The  rector’s  wife  will 
be  nobody — the  squire’s  wife  will  take  the  shine  out  of  you 
completely.  ” 

I'd  like  to  see  it!”  cried  Arthur,  blazing  up;  ^H’d  like 
to  find  the  lady  w^ho  was  fit  to  hold  a  candle  to  my  mother!’  ’ 
he  continued,  dragging  forward  the  easiest  arm-chair  and 
putting  her  into  it,  and  waiting  upon  her  unremittingly 
during  their  pleasant  Sunday  supper,  when  all  the  servants 
were  out  and  Arthur  did  everything.  He  had.  that  happy 
knack  of  true  gentlemanhood,  never  to  be  ashamed  of  doing 


•  «1- 


KING  AKTHXJK.  I2l 

everything — or  anything:  always  ready  to  notice  every  one^s 
need,  and  supply  it — especially  his  mother’s. 

‘‘You  are  my  eyes,  my  hands,  and  my  feet,”  she  some¬ 
times  said  to  the  boy;  and  gave  herself  up,  more  and  more 
every  holidays,  to  the  delight  of  being  dependent — of  lean¬ 
ing  on  her  big  son,  with  a  sort  of  triumphant  weakness  that 
was  utmost  joy. 

But  he  was  an  obstinate  young  monkey  for  all  his  good 
qualities;  possessmg  strongly  the  violent  likes  and  dislikes 
of  youth.  And  so  it  happened  that  for  two  whole  years 
he  never  crossed  the  threshold  of  Tawton  Abbas. 

bTor  did  the  rector  and  his  wife  very  often — not  oftener 
than  politeness  and  their  position  demanded.  Susannah 
had  few  interests  in  common  with  the  fashionable  woman 
of  the  world,  who  was  afraid  of  growing  old,  and  who 
seemed  to  have  no  youth  to  remember;  at  least  she  never 
mentioned  it.  Austin,  too,  had  little  sympathy  with  Sir 
Charles,  who,  though  gentle  and  gentlemanly,  did  not 
seem  to  have  two  ideas  in  his  head — read  no  books,  took 
no  special  interest  in  anything,  and  seemed  mortally  in  fear 
of  his  clever  wife.  She  on  her  part  noticed  him  very  little, 
and  led  a  regular  society-life — at  least  as  gay  a  one  as  she 
could  accomplish — going  to  London  whenever  she  could, 
and  bringing  London  people  down  With  her  on  every  possi¬ 
ble  occasion.  But  she  mixed  very  little  with  the  neighbor¬ 
ing  families,  who,  being  unable  to  discover  her  antecedents 
(Sir  Charles’s,  of  course,  were  patent-s-he  was  a  Damerel 
and  that  was  enough),  concluded  there  was  “  something 
odd  ”  about  her.  Perhaps,  as  she  had  some  slight  accent 
not  quite  English,  and  spoke  several  continental  tongues, 
she  was  a  foreigner — never  much  approved  of  in  provincial 
society.  Still,  she  was  very  handsome — very  lady-like;  all 
the  gentlemen  admired  her,  but  the  ladies  thought  her 
not  domestic,”  and  wondered  that  at  her  age  she  should 
care  for  concerts,  private  theatricals,  and  the  like. 

However,  to  their  opinion  of  her  Lady  Damerel  seemed 


122 


KIKG  ARTHtJXi. 


wholly  indifferent. «  She  gave  a  tenants’  ball  at  Christmas, 
and  a  garden-party,  to  all  classes  not  lower  than  doctors 
and  lawyers,  every  summer.  But  beyond  that  the  village 
and  the  rectory  saw  almost  nothing  of  her,  except  at 
church,  which  she  attended  regularly,  and  where  Mrs. 
Trevena,  tender-hearted  still,  ofter  compassionated  the  dis¬ 
contented  look  and  restless  manner  of  the  rich,  clever, 
prosperous  woman,  who  had  neither  son  nor  daughter — not 
even  niece  or  ne^diew — at  her  empty  fireside.  . 

How  very  empty  it  must  be  when  the  visitors  go,  and 
Sir  Charles  and  she  are  left  alone,”  Susannah  said  one  day. 
‘‘  I  think  I  will  really  pluck  u|)  heart;  go  and  call  at  Taw- 
ton  Abbas,  and  take  Nanny  with  me.  ”  Nanny  happened 
to  be  staying  for  a  fortnight  at  the  rectory,  and  her  uncle 
and  aunt  had  found  her  so  harmless,  even  pleasant  in  the 
house,  that  they  had  kept  her  for  a  month.  But  the  call 
resulted  in  nothing— -not  even  an  invitation  to  tea  for  the 
quiet  unimpressive  little  maiden,  who  was  stared  at  from 
the  piercing  black  eyes,  through  a  double  pince~7iez. 

Miss  Trevena — did  you  say?  Your  daughter,  I  con¬ 
clude?” 

My  niece;  I  have  no  daughter.  It  is  my  son  you  see 
at  church.  Lady  Damerel.” 

“  Oh  yes,  I  remember  now.  A  tall  young  fellow — rather 
good-looking.  You  must  bring  him  to  see  me  some  day. 
But  we  have  no  young  peo23le  here.  Miss  Trevena.  Your 
mother — I  mean  your  aunt — is  more  fortunate  than  I.  All 
my  children  are  dead.  ” 

She  said  this,  not  with  any  tone  of  regret,  but  simply  as 
stating  a  fact;  then  proceeded  to  discuss  a  new  book  and  a 
new  opera;  talking  miles  above  the  head  of  poor  innocent 
Nanny,  who  thought  that  Cousin  Arthur — whom  she  seemed 
to  miss  extremely  from  the  rectory  in  spite  of  his  ignoring 
of  her — w^as  right  in  considering  Lady  Damerel  the  finest  of 
fine  ladies,  and  the  most  unpleasant. 

Nanny  was  now  getting  old  enough  for  her  future  to  re- 


KIKG  ARTHUK. 


123 

quire  consideration.  I^'ot  from  her  imcle^  who  never  looked 
a  day  ahead:  but  she  and  her  aunt  sometimes  talked  it 
over.  Nanny  was  an  independent  little  soul.  She  knev7 
she  had  not  a  penny  in  the  world;  except  the  value  of  that 
diamond  ring;  nor  a  friend,  save  Miss  Grogan,  wdio  was 
growing  old  and  frail.  Perhaps  her  mother’s  sore  experi¬ 
ence  still  lingered  in  her  little  soul — for  she  was  not  a  bit 
of  a  Trevena,  nor  seemed  much  drawn  to  the  Trevenas. 
She  said  calmly,  “  I  shall  be  a  governess;”  and  though 
very  grateful  to  her  uncle  for  all  his  goodness,  made  it  clear 
enough  that  as  soon  as  she  could  earn  her  own  bread,  she 
w^ould  never  eat  the  bread  of  dependence.  Her  aunt  saw,  not 
without  thankfulness,  that  PlalbertTre vena’s  daughter  was, 
as  often  happens,  the  very  opposite  of  himself.  But  though 
she  was  very  kind  to  Nanny,  and  liked  her  sincerely,  she 
scarcely  loved  her — one  can  not  make  one’s  self  love  even  a 
child.  And  -then  all  her  heart  was  bound  up  in  her  own 
boy.  When  Nanny  went  away,  and  Arthur  came  home  for 
the  holidays,  Susannah  felt  the  difference. 

“  King  ”  Arthur  was  much  altered — much  improved. 
He  was  in  his  last  year  at  Winchester,  and  looked  quite  the 
young  man.  There  had  never  been  much  of  the  hobble¬ 
dehoy  ”  in  him,  probably  because  he  was  not  shy — he  did 
not  think  enough  about  himself  for  sh3mess.  Eeserved 
he  was,  in  a  sense;  but  that  painful  bashfulness,  which  as 
often  springs  from  egotism  as  modest}^,  never  troubled  him 
much.  By  nature — and  also  by  wise  upbringing — he  was 
a  complete  altruist — alw^ays  interested  in  other  people,  and 
“  bothering  ”  himself  very  little  about  himself  and  his  own 
affairs. 

But  just  now  he  could  hardly  hel]3  it.  He  had  come*' 
home  greatly  excited  by  an  incident — a  coincidence  such  as 
iiappens  in  real  life  oftener  than  we  think,  and  yet  when 
put  into  books  everybody  cries  out,  “  How  unnatural!” 

One  day  a  little  “  commoner  ”  he  knew  was  visited  by  a 
Jiitlaei-to  unknown  grandfather,  whom  all  the  boys  were 


KING  AKTHUK. 


inclined  to  laugh  at,  for  his  strong  American  accent  and 
queer  American  ways,  till  they  found  out  what  a  kindly  old 
fellow  he  was,  and  what  funny  stories  he  told. 

He  tipped  us  all  round  and  asked  our  names, and  when 
he  heard  mine,  he  started  as  if  I^’d  hit  him.  Who  do  you 
think  he  was  mother?  Guess  now — guess?^^ 

It  needed  no  guessing.  ‘‘  Doctor  Franklin!  I  am  so  glad 
he  is  alive. 

‘‘  Very  much  alive,  indeed!’^  cried  Arthur.  “  He^s  as 
sharp  and  clever  as  ever  he  can  he;  and  so  kind — all  the 
fellows  liked  him,  though  he  was  a  foreigner  and  an  Ameri¬ 
can.  Fm  not  a  bit  ashamed  of  my  godfather;  and  I  like 
him  very  much. 

“  You  have  need  to,^^  said  Susannah  gravely.  And  when 
a  few  days  after  Dr.  Franklin  appeared  at  the  rectory 
as  large  as  life  and  twice  as  natural,^’’  said  he,  with  his 
queer  internal  chuckle),  the  welcome  he  received  was  al¬ 
most  pathetic  in  its  earnestness.  When  Susannah  sat  talk¬ 
ing  to  him,  and  found  him  scarcely  changed — as  gaunt  and 
lanky,  quaint  and  kind,  as  ever — it  seemed  as  if  eighteen 
years  were  rolled  away  like  a  cloud,  and  she  were  once 
more  the  woman  who  sat  beneath  the  snow -wall  above  An- 
dermatt — gazing  on  the  snow-mountains,  and  trying  not  to 
be  broken-hearted,  but  to  accept  God^s  will,  whatever  it 
was,  and  make  for  herself  a  happy  life — unconscious  how 
even  then  that  Holy  Will  was  preparing  for  her  a  happi¬ 
ness  she  never  dreamed  of. 

Look  at  him,'^  she  said,  as  Arthur  just  then  crossed  the 
lav/n  with  his  two  big  dogs,  ’v\Fistling  to  them,  and  then 
breaking  out  into  a  stave  of  “  Dulce  domum,^^  in  a  voice 
which  promised  to  be  a  fine  tenor  some  day.  “  Who  would 
have  thought  my  baby — ^your  baby,  doctor,  you  saved  him 
for  me! — would  have  grown  up  to  that!^'’ 

It^s  a  trick  they  have,  ma'^am.  My  ten  are  all  men 
and  women  now— uncommonly  good-looking  too,  some  of 
them,  ” 


KING  ARTHUR 


125 


And  then  he  explained  that  his  eldest  daughter — ‘‘  fine 
girl — very  fine — took  after  her  mother,  not  me  — had  mar¬ 
ried  a  rich  English  baronet,  v/hich  accounted  for  the  fact  of 
himself  being  grandfather  to  a  Winchester  boy. 

Your  boy  might  be  a  baroneEs  son  too,  ma^am,  if 
there ^s  anything  m  blood.  Mrs.  Franklin  says  there  isn^t; 
that  it’s  all  upbringing.  But  in  that  case  even,  Arthur  does 
you  the  greatest  credit.” 

Thank  you,”  said  Susannah;  and  then  tacitly  follow¬ 
ing  the  young  fellow — for  it  seemed  such  a  pleasure  to  look 
at  him — they  passed  through  the  church-yard  into  the  park 
of  Tawton  Abbas;  still  talking  like  old  friends  and  regret¬ 
ting  that  a  very  natural  incident — Dr.  h’ranklin’s  losing 
their  address,  and  therefore  being  unable  to  give  them  his 
own — had  made  them  strangers  for  so  many  years. 

Which  have  been  happy  years,  by  your  looks,  Mrs. 
Trevena?  Yo  anxiety  over  your  boy?  you  have  never  heard 
anything  about  that  woman?”  Dr.  Franklin  did  not  say 
that  mother  ” — who  had  no  right  to  the  name. 

Never.  Have  your”  •  ‘  ^ 

Dr.  Franklin  looked  uncomfortable.  /‘I  did  not  mean 
to  tell  you  unless  you  asked  me  the  direct  question;  but — 
she  has  bothered  me  a  little.  At  least  I  suppose  it  was  she.  ” 

And  then  he  explained  that  a  year  or  two  ago  there  had 
appeared  in  a  New  York  paper  an  advertisement  for  a  Dr. 
Frankhn,  who  would  hear  of  something  to  his  advan¬ 
tage,”  which  his  wife  had  insisted  on  his  answering;  and 
then  had  come  a  letter,  in  an  evidently  feigned  hand,  re¬ 
questing  particulars  about  a  child  that  was  born  at  Ander- 
matt — whether  “  it  ”  was  alive — and  where  “  it  ”  was? 

Perhaps  she  had  forgotten  whether  ^  it  ’  was  a  boy  or  a 
girl.  ‘  Can  a  mother  forget  her  sucking  child? ^  Well — 
some  mothers  do.” 

‘‘  And  what  did  you  reply?”  Mrs,  Trevena  could  scarcely 
speak  for  agitation. 


126 


KING  ARTHUR. 


Least  saidj,  soonest  mended — I  never  answered  one 
single  word. 

“  Thank  yon — thank  you!  Did  yon  keep  the  letter? 
What  address  was  given?'’^ 

Mrs.  Franklin  has  it.  Some  milliner  or  dress-maker, 
I  think,  in  London. 

‘‘  In  London!’^  A  shudder  of  repulsion  and  dread  passed 
over  Susannah;  and  then  that  stern  sense  of  justice,  so 
strong  in  her,  conquered  it.  “  Perhaps  she  was  a  dress¬ 
maker — some  poor  working-woman  who  was  almost  starv¬ 
ing,  and  did  not  wish  her  baby  to  starve  too. 

Pshaw!  Does  that  boy  look  like  the  son  of  a  working- 
woman?  And  it  was  herself  she  wanted  to  save  from  star¬ 
vation,  not  her  baby.  No,  no,  ma^am;  I  saw  her — ^you 
never  did.  She  used  always  to  rave  about  being  a  ‘  woman 
of  genius  ^ — very  likely  an  actress  or  singer — that  very 
singer  who  ran  away  from  Milan. 

“  I  have  sometimes  thought  so.  And  the  musical  fac¬ 
ulty  descends.  Just  listen  to  that  boy.'’^ 

Arthur  was  singing  Dulce  domum  at  the  top  of  his 
voice — a  rather  cracked  voice  now;  but  it  was  not  ignorant 
singing — he  evidently  knew  what  he  was  about. 

Music  is  his  jDassion,  as  it  is  with  many  a  boy,  till  the 
work  of  the  world  knocks  it  out  of  him.  But  this  letter — - 
Stop,  there^s  the  Tawton  Abbas  carriage — let  us  step  aside. 

For  Mrs.  Trevena  felt  that  to  interchange  polite  nothings 
with  the  great  lady  would,  at  this  moment,  be  beyond  her 
power.  She  and  Dr.  Franklin  passed  under  a  group  of 
trees,  so  that  Lady  Damerel  never  saw  them. 

xYrthur,  however,  did  not  step  aside.  He  ceased  his  gay 
school-song,  and  standing  on  the  grass,  lifted  his  hat,  as 
the  carriage  drove  by,  with  a  gesture  so  carelessly  graceful, 
so  unlike  country  youths  in  general,  that  Lady  Damerel 
turned  to  look  after  him. 

He  was,  in  truth,  worth  looking  at,  in  his  rough  gray 
clothes,  with  a  gray  cap  set  on  the  top  of  his  crisp  fair  curls 


KING  AUTHUlt. 


127 


—-it  was  before  the  time  when  the  fashion  made  young  men 
crop  themselves  hke  returned  convicts.  Lithe  and  slender 
as  a  yomig  David,  and  in  manner  neither  shy  nor  forward, 
because  thinking  more  of  other  people  than  himseif — Ar¬ 
thur  never  came  to,  and  had  now  quite  passed,  that  awk¬ 
ward  stage  when  a  boy  does  not  know  what  to  do  with  him¬ 
self,  and  especially  with  his  legs  and  arms. 

It  was  no  wonder,  Mrs.  Trevena  thought,  that  Lady  Da- 
merel,  indifferent  as  she  was  to  her  neighbors,  should  turn 
and  glance  after  him. 

“  Poor  woman  said  she,  explaining  to  Dr.  Franklin  a 
little  of  the  domestic  history  of  Tawton  Abbas.  I  dare 
say  she  would  give  the  world  to  have  a  son  like  mine.'’^ 

May  be.  But  there  are  mothers — and  mothers,  like 
the  woman  we  were  talking  about.  Shall  I  tell  Mrs.  Frank¬ 
lin  to  send  you  her  letter?  if  she  hasn^t  burned  it,  which 
perhaps  may  have  been  the  best  thing. 

‘‘Perhaps,'’^  echoed  Susannah,  wishing  in  her  heart — 
though  her  conscience  reproached  her — ^that  it  might  be 
burned,  and  forgotten.  It  could  do  no  good  to  Arthur. 

“  No,  for  the  lad  doesn^t  care  a  straw  about  his  mother.  ” 
I  am  his  mother,-’^  said  Susannah,  with  a  certain  grave 
dignity. 

‘‘YoiFre  right,  ma^am.  May  he  never  have  any  other 
as  long  as  he  lives!’*’ 

But  mothers,  even  the  happiest  mothers  of  the  best  of 
sons,  have  their  anxieties. 

Some  days  after  this.  Dr.  Franklin,  with  the  practical 
common  sense  of  a  man  of  the  world,  asked  Iris  godson, 
very  naturally,  what  he  was  going  to  be? 

Arthur  hesitated,  and  looked  uncomfortable.  His  moth¬ 
er,  thinking  this  arose  from  diffidence  or  modesty,  answered 
for  him. 

“  My  son’s  career  is  already  cut  out  for  him.  There  are 
six  New  College  scholarshij)s  given  at  Winchester  every 
year.  Arthur  is  so  good  at  mathematics,  the  head-master 


m 


KIKG  ABTHUE. 


tells  US,  tliat  he  is  quite  sure  of  one.  He  will  go  in  for  it 
next  year  and  take  himself  to  college  as  he  did  to  school. 
Then — a  boy  who  has  earned  his  own  education  can  gen¬ 
erally  earn  his  own  living;  especially  at  Oxford.*’^ 

But,  mother, said  Arthur  slowl}^  I  may  not  go  to 
Oxford  at  all.  I  mean  to  be  a  musician. 

A  what?^’  cried  Dr.  Franklin,  bursting  into  laughter. 

A  street-singer,  or  an  organ-grinder,  going  about  the 
country  Vv^ith  a  monkey  and  a  coi:ple  of  white  mice!’^ 

Eidicule  is  the  sharpest  of  weapons  with  the  young.  Arthur 
turned  white  with  anger,  but  controlled  himself,  and  ex¬ 
plained  that  a  friend  of  his,  just  returned  from  a  German 
Conservatoire,  had  advised  him  to  go  there  and  study  mu¬ 
sic  as  a  profession. 

At  whose  expense,  my  boy?^^  asked  Dr.  Franklin,  dry- 

ly- 

Arthur  colored.  “  I  donT  know.  I  have  never  thought. 

But  you  ought  to  think — ^you  are  old  enough.  How 
old?^^ 

‘‘Eighteen  past.  Next  year  I  should  go  in  for  the 
scholarship,  if  I  go  in  at  all.  Mother?^  ^ 

She  did  not  answer.  It  was  the  first  time  she  had  heard 
of  this  idea;  the  first  time  her  boy  had  kept  back  an3rthing 
from  her,  or  that  his  will  had  run  counter  to  hers,  never 
an  arbitrary  will.  From  his  very  childhood,  as  soon  as  he 
could  reason  at  all,  she  had  taught  him  to  use  his  reason, 
and  had  never  from  him  exacted  blind  obedience.  Expla¬ 
nation,  whenever  possible,  she  gave;  and  her  argument  v/as 
never  “  Do  it  because  I  command  it, but,  “  Do  it  because 
it  is  right. 

This  fancy  of  Arthur  ^s  struck  her  with  a  sharp  pain. 

No  wonder  she  looked  sad  and  grave — and  even  the  second 
anxious  appeal — “  What  do  you  say,  mother?^  ^  brought  no 
response.  Just  then  Mr.  Trevena  was  heard  calling  all 
over  the  house,  “  Susannah — Susannah  — as  he  usually 


KING  ARTHUR. 

(lid  if  he  missed  her  for  five  minutes,  find  slioliiirried  away 
witliout  having  said  a  word. 

Well,  young  man?  You  are  a  nice  young  man,  to 
make  your  mother  look  like  that!  Still  nicer  to  expect 
your  father  to  maintain  you  in  expensive  study  for  the  next 
five  or  iten  years. 

Arthur  fiushed  crimson.  He  liked  his  godfather  sincere¬ 
ly;  still,  l)r.  Franklin  often  “rubbed  him  up  the  wrong 
way.  It  was  the  contrast  between  the  practical  and  the 
artistic  temperament;  the  born  democrat,  and — well.  Heaven 
only  knew  what  Arthur’s  birth  was,  but  he  looked  the 
young  “  aristocrat,”  every  inch  of  him. 

“  I  don’t  know  what  you  mean,”  he  said.  “  I  had  no 
idea  of  vexing  my  mother;  and  I  wish  to  stand  on  my  own 
feet  as  soon  as  ever  I  can.  ” 

“  That’s  right,  lad.  I  did  it,  before  I  was  your  age.  I 
was  message-boy  at  a  chemist’s  store.  But  I  soon  went 
ahead — we  all  go  ahead  in  the  States.  Our  motto  is 
‘  Every  man  for  himself,  and  ’ — taking  off  his  ca]!  reverent¬ 
ly — ‘  God  for  us  all.’  That’s  what  I  said  to  my  six  sons,” 
continued  he.  “  I  gave  them  a  good  education,  and  tlien  I 
left  them  to  shift  for  themselves.  And  they  have  done  it 
— uncommonly  well,  too.  There  isn’t  one  of  them  now 
that  ever  wants  a  cent  from  his  father.” 

“  I  hope  I  shall  not  from  mine — at  least,  not  for  v^ery 
long,”  said  Arthur,  proudly. 

“  That’s  right,  my  boy;  for  Mr.  Trevena  isn’t  as  young 
as  he  has  been,  and  he  has  another  incumbrance  besides 
yourself — that  little  girl  your  mother  told  me  of.  What’s 
her  name?” 

“  Nanny.” 

“  I  hear  she’s  a  plucky  little  thing,  and  means  to  go  out 
as  a  governess — which  is  quite  right.  A  woman  should 
earn  her  own  bread  as  well  as  a  man.  But  if  her  uncle 
helped  anybody,  he  ought  to  help  her;  because,  you  see, 
she  is  his  own  flesh  and  blood,  and  you — ” 


130 


KING  AETHUR. 


“  I  understand  r  ^  And  again  came  that  violent  blush, 
which  showed  what  keen  sensitiveness  lurked  under  Ar¬ 
thur’s  merry  and  manly  outside.  Then,  speaking  with  evi¬ 
dent  effort,  “  Godfather,  you  are  right  to  remind  me  of 
that.  Tell  me— for  I  believe  you  were  present  at  my  birth 
— who  were  my  father  and  mother?” 

‘‘  My  poor  lad,  I  declare  to  you  I  haven’t  the  slightest 
idea.” 

They  had  gone  outside  1:116  drawing-room  window,  and 
were  lying  on  the  grassy  slope — the  Kentuckian  puffing  at 
his  pipe,  and  Arthur  sitting  beside  him,  his  arms  round  his 
knees,  gazing  straight  forward,  with  a  graver  expression 
than  his  wont.  Dr.  Franklin  scanned  him  sharply. 

It  was  an  awkward  business,  Arthur.  If  I  were  you, 
I’d  think  about  it  as  little  as  possible.” 

‘‘So  do  I.  As  mother  often  says,  a  man  is  responsible 
for  himself  and  his  children,  but  certainly  not  for  his  par¬ 
ents.  Still  I  should  like  to  know  all  I  can.” 

“  How  much  has  your  mother  told  you?” 

“  Only  that  you  found  me — you  and  she — somewhere  in 
the  Alps.  I  suppose  I  had  a  father  and  a  mother,  but  she 
never  speaks  of  them  at  all.  ” 

“  Bravo!”  muttered  Dr.  Franklin.  But  he  himself  felt 
no  inclination  for  such  generous  reticence;  he  thought  it 
fairer  on  all  sides  that  the  boy  should  know  everything;  so 
he  then  and  there  told  liim  everything. 

Arthur  listened,  his  cap  drawn  over  his  eyes,  his  hands — 
such  long,  slender,  beautiful  hands — clasped  together  round 
his  knees. 

“Thank  you,”  he  said  at  last.  “lam  glad  I  know. 
The — old  lady — was,  you  suppose,  an  opera-singer?” 

‘  I  don’t  say  that,  but  it’s  possible.” 

“  And  she  sold  me,  you  say — sold  me  for  twenty  pounds?” 

“Yes.”  He  was  just  on  the  point  of  adding,  “and 
she’d  like  to  buy  you  back  again  now,”  when  he  remem¬ 
bered  Mrs.  Trevena’s  caution,  that  until  they  heard  from 


KING  AETHUK. 


131 


America  they  should  say  nothing  about  the  letter.  It  would 
not  benefit  Arthur — perhaps  only  unsettle  him.  And  they 
had  the  dress-maker’s  address;  while  the  unmotherly  mother 
— her  brief  note,  if  hers,  was.  Dr.  Franklin  declared,  “  as 
cold  as  a  stone  ” — had  to  them  no  clew  whatever.  “  All 
the  better!”  thought  he.  And  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Trevena  just 
then  appearing,  he  ended  the  conversation. 

It  was  not  renewed;  though  he  stayed  some  days  longer 
at  the  rectory.  The  annual  garden-party  at  Tawton  Abbas 
was  coming  off,  and  the  old  Kentuckian  said  he  should 
like  to  study  life  ”  in  an  English  country-house.  So  in 
addition  to  the  invitation  for  ‘‘  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Trevena,  and 
Mr.  Trevena,  junior”  (‘‘you  see,  mother”  —  laughed 
Arthur — your  fine  lady  doesn’t  even  take  the  trouble  to 
discover  my  Christian  name  ”) — a  note  was  sent  to  Tawton 
Abbas  for  permission  to  bring  a  friend  from  America” 
to  join  the  party. 

Then  you’ll  not  want  me,  ”  said  Arthur,  very  reluctant 
to  go.  But  his  mother  wished  it.  He  had  been  unlike 
himself,  she  thought,  the  last  day  or  two;  and  though  she 
had  carefully  abstained  from  reviving  the  Oxford  question 
till  Dr.  Franklin  was  gone,  still  she  saw  that  something 
was  on  his  mind.  He  followed  her  about  with  extra  ten¬ 
derness,  divining  all  she  wanted,  and  doing  everything  for 
her  more  like  a  girl  than  a  boy.  But  he  said  nothing  until 
they  were  walking  together  across  the  park  to  the  garden- 
party;  only  they  two,  for  Dr.  Franklin  had  home  letters  to 
write  by  the  mail,  and  he  and  Mr.  Trevena  could  not  ap¬ 
pear  till  late. 

So  Susannah  had  her  boy  all  to  herself;  and  very  nice 
he  looked,  and  very  proud  she  was  of  him.  He  was  proud 
of  her,  too,  he  said,  after  eying  her  over  with  the  sharp 
criticism  of  youth — approving  her  new  dress,  and  wishing 
she  would  wear  it  every  day. 

“  But  I  can’t  afford  silk  every  day,”  said  she,  laughing. 
“  I  am  not  Lady  Damerel.” 


132 


KING  ARTHUR. 


No,  thank  goodness!  I  wouldn^t  change  my  little 

mother  for  a  dozen  Ladv  Damerels.^^ 

%/ 

‘‘  Well,  then,  1^11  try  to  dress  a  little  better  and  talk  a 
little  more,  just  to  please  you  and  papa.  I  am  glad  my 
son  is  not  ashamed  of  me.^^ 

I  ho23e  my  mother  is  not  ashamed,  of  me,^^  said  Arthur, 
gravely.  And  then  he  told  her  in  a  few  words — so  few  that 
it  was  easy  to  see  how  deeply  he  felt — of  the  conversation 
between  his  godfather  and  himself;  and  how  he  had  made 
up  his  mind  to  go  in  for  mathematics  and  give  up  music 
entirely. 

Susannah  breathed  a  sigh  of  thankfulness,  and  then  re¬ 
plied,  “  Not  entirely,  my  son.  Music  may  still  be  your 
pleasure — your  staff,  if  not  your  crutch.’^ 

Not  at  present.  I  love  it  so  that  I  must  give  it  up,  if 
I  mean  to  be  anything.  And  I  do  mean  to  be  something, 
some  day,^-’  added  he,  tossing  his  head  and  planting  his 
foot  firmly  on  the  ground. 

The  young  think  the  old  were  never  young.  It  did  not 
occur  to  Arthur  that  his  quiet  little  mother  felt  her  heart 
throb  while  he  spoke.  She,  too,  had  had  her  dreams — of 
fame,  ambition,  love — had  written  verses  by  the  yards  and 
stories  by  the  dozen;,  yes,  she  had  earned  her  bread  as' a 
daily  governess,  and  finally  would  end  her  d4ys  as  the  old 
wife  of  a  country  parson.  But  she  had  eaten  cheerfully 
the  dry  bread  of  existence,  and  made  it  sweet  by  thankful¬ 
ness.  Though  tears  were  in  her  eyes  now,  they  were  not 
regretful  tears. 

‘‘  I  think,  Arthur,  you  are  right.  The  secret  of  life  is 
not  to  do  what  one  likes,  but  to  try  to  like  that  which  one 
has  to  do.  And  one  does  come  to  like  it— in  time.'’-’ 

Yes,  mother.  And  if  I  turn  out  a  great  Oxford  don — 
shall  you  be  pleased?  Would  you  like  me  to  make  a  name 
for  myself? — the  only  name  Fve  got,^^  added  he,  with  a 
slight  bitterness  of  tone,  which  went  to  Susannah^s  heart. 

“  So  I’ll  go  in  for  the  scholarship  at  New  College,  and 


KING  ARTHUR.  133 

papa  need  not  spend  a  halfpenny  upon  me  at  Oxford. 
Then — poor  little  N’anny  need  not  he  a  governess.  ^ 

What  made  you  think  of  Nanny  asked  Mrs.  Trevena, 
with  some  surprise.  For  the  children  had  scarcely  met  for 
years,  until  last  week,  and  then  only  for  a  few  hours;  since 
Arthur  came  home  at  night,  and  Nanny  left  next  morning. 
She  had  been  very  shy  with  him,  and  he  had  treated  her 
with  the  majestic  bearing  of  a  big  boy  toward  a  very  little 
girl. 

“  My  godfather  said  papa  ought  to  help  Nanny  and  not 
me.  He  is  right;  she  is  a  girl — and  she  is  papa^s  own.^'’ 

‘‘  And  you  are  my  own!^^  answered  Susannah,  with  the 
passionate  tenderness  that  she  so  seldom  expressed.  But 
she  said  no  more.  The  wisdom  of  parents  sometimes  lies 
in  accepting  rather  than  in  making  sacrifices. 

Arthur  found  himself  less  miserable  than  he  had  expect¬ 
ed  to  be  at  the  garden-party,  even  though  it  was,  as  some 
one  graphically  described,  “a  penn^orth  of  all  sorts,'’ ^ 
through  which  the  hostess  moved  like  a  condescending 
queen.  She  had  various  out-door  amusements  for  the  in¬ 
ferior  folk — ^performing  dogs,  hand-bell  ringers,  etc. — and 
for  her  choicer  guests  there  was  very  good  music  in  the 
drawing-room.  She  looked  politely  surprised  when  she 
saw  the  Trevenas  eagerly  listening. 

‘‘  Do  you  play  or  sing,  Mrs.  Trevena?’^ 

‘‘No,  but  my  son  does. 

“  Oh,  indeed."’'’ 

Here  Mr.  Hardy,  the  High  Church  curate,  said  a  word 
or  two,  which  caused  the  great  lady  to  put  up  her  pince-nez 
(she  was  old  enough  to  wear  spectacles,  but  never  would) 
and  scan  Arthur  sharply. 

Most  elderly  women — mothers  or  not-— like  to  look  at  a 
graceful  handsome  boy.  As  this  childless  woman  did  so, 
a  vexed  expression  passed  over  her  face — not  regret  or  pain, 
but  a  sort  of  irritation.  An  outcry  against  Providence, 
Mrs.  Trevena  thought  it  was,  and  felt  sorry  for  her,  till 


134 


KING  ARTHUR. 


Lady  Damerel  broke  into  the  most  gracious  of  careless 
smiles. 

Perhaps  Mr. - I  forget  his  Christian  name — Mr. 

Tfevena  will  come  to  our  rescue  in  accompanying  a  trio? 
Our  own  pianist  has  not  come.  And  our  soprano  says  she 
is  too  hoarse  to  sing.  "We  are  very  unfortunate."^’ 

‘‘  Not  if  we  can  induce  you  to  take  her  place/’  said  some 
one  near.  ‘‘  You  know  you  have  sung.  Lady  Damerel.  ” 
Oh,  yes — a  little — when  I  was  a  girl,”  said  she  care¬ 
lessly,  listening  to  the  touch  of  Arthur’s  long  fingers  on 
the  keys — the  magic  touch  which  all  musicians  recognize. 
It  was  a  magnificent  piano,  and  the  artist’s  delight  over¬ 
came  the  boy’s  shyness. 

^^Play  something,”  she  said;  and  Arthur  played — ex¬ 
ceedingly  well.  Do  you  read  at  sight?”  and  she  placed  H 
the  trio  before  him.  It  was  one  of  those  dashing  operatic  - 
scenas  of  the  last  generation,  full  of  show  and  difficulty,  . 
and  embellished  yfith.  fioriture.  Arthur  dashed  into  it — so 
did  the  tenor  and  bass— and  finally,  as  if  she  could  not  • 
help  it,  the  soprano. 

Lady  Damerel  must  have  had  a  fine  voice  once;  and  even  ^ 
now  had  the  brilliant  remains  of  it;  a  thoroughly  culti¬ 
vated  voice — not  tender,  not  pathetic,  but  high  and  flexible  : 
as  a  musical  instrument,  and  capable  of  executing  those  : 
wonderfuWowrs  deforce  which  “  bring  the  house  down. 

She  did  it  now;  seeming  quite  to  forget  herself  in  the  pleas¬ 
ure  of  her  own  jDerformance;  so  much  so  that  she  thought  . 
necessary  to  apologize. 

^  ‘  I  am  almost  too  old  to  sing — but  I  used  to  like  it  once. 
Now^ — in  my  position — with  my  many  social  duties — of  ' 
course  a  lady  is  different  from  a  professional.” 

You  might  have  been  a  professional,  ma’am:  you  sing 
so  splendidly.  I  never  heard  an3dhing  better,  even  in 
America.  ” 

The  honest  Kentuckian  had  been  standing  outside  tlie 
open  French  window,  and  now  Avalked  in — in  his  enthiisi- 


KING  ARTHUR.  135 

asm  not;  waiting  to  be  introduced.  When  Mr.  Trevena 
mentioned  Doctor  Dranklin^'’^  Lady  Damerel  suddenly 
turned  round. 

I  guess  you  never  saw  an  American  before;  And  per¬ 
haps,  ma^am,  in  my  compliments  to  your  singing,  I  was 
more  honest  than  polite.  But  when  we  like  a  thing  we  also 
like  to  say  so.^’’ 

Lady  Damerel  bowed.  She  looked  white — possibly  with 
the  exertion  of  singing. 

‘‘  Americans  a  fine  country,  ma^’am,  and  weWe  some 
uncommonly  fine  singers  there — fine  women,  too,  especially 
in  the  South.  You  remind  me  of  my  country-women  ex¬ 
ceedingly. 

Again  Lady  Damerel  bowed,  rather  haughtily;  and  sat 
down,  almost  hiding  her  face  with,  her  large  fan.  But  no 
blush  came  to  her  cheek  except  the  permanent  one  which  it 
owed  to  art:  and  she  had  the  stereotyped  smile  of  a  person 
well  used  to  fiattery. 

Mrs.  Travena,  rather  annoyed  at  her  good  friend^s  blunt¬ 
ness,  took  the  first  opportunity  of  getting  him  away — much 
to  his  amusement. 

‘  ^  I  wanted  to  talk  to  Lady  Damerel.  She^s  an  uncom¬ 
monly  handsome  woman  still,  and  very  like  an  American. 
I  wonder  where  she  was  raised.  I^m  sure  Lve  seen  her 
-.somewhere — or  somebody  very  like  her.  Has  she  got  a  sis¬ 
ter,  do  you  know?  And  what  sort  of  a  fellow  is  the  hus- 
:band?^^  ^ 

Poor  Sir  Charles  was  meekly  seated  outside  in  his  self- 
propelled  chair;  sjieaking  to  few  people,  and  apparently 
•very  much  §fraid  of  everybody,  especially  his  wife;  for  he 
'  kept  out  of  her  way  as  much  as  possible.  Wreck  as  he  was, 
'he  had  a  refined,  amiable  face— and  stretched  out  a  long 
feeble  hand,  knotted. ^and  distorted  with  rheumatism,  to  the 
,  stranger. 

“  Glad  to  see  you — glad  to  see  you — and  so  will  my  wife 
i  be.  Lady  Damerel  is  an  American. 


13G 


KIKG  ARTHUK. 


why  clidn^t  she  say  so?”  muttered  the  doctor; 
and;,  after  a  few  words  of  civil  conversation,  went  back  to 
the  drawing-room  and  watched  her  again.  She  sung  no 
more,  but  stood  talking,  or  rather  listening,  the  center  of  a 
group  of  talkers,  with  a  polite  absent  smile,  melting  grad¬ 
ually  into  the  weary  dissatisfaction  which  was  the  perma¬ 
nent  expression  of  her  face  whenever  she  ceased  speaking. 

That  isiiT  a  happy  woman,  or  a  good  woman,”  said 
the  doctor  to  Mrs.  Trevena. 

“  Perhaps  if  she  were  happy  she  might  be  good.  ” 

‘‘  I  donT  believe  it.  People  make  their  own  bed — nearly 
always — and  as  they  make  it  they  have  to  lie  upon  it.  What 
a  life  she  must  have  led  that  poor  old  fellow!  Is  she  his 
second  wife,  do  you  think?” 

‘‘No.  He  once  told  my  husband  they  had  been  mar¬ 
ried  over  thirty  years,  and  had,  had  four  children — two 
boys  first,  and  then  two  girls — all  of  whom  are  dead.  She 
never  cared  for  them,  he  said;  but  the  poor  old  man 
seemed  to  have  been  fond  of  his  children.” 

“  Pve  seen  her  before — I^m  certain  I  have,”  said  Dr. 
Franklin  meditatively,  as  he  leaned  against  the  window 
outside;  watching  ^everybody  and  everything,  but  himself 
unobserved.  ‘  ‘  There,  she  has  taken  off  her  gloves.  I  al¬ 
ways  notice  hands;  they  are  as  characteristic  as  faces.  And 
what  a  diamond  ring!” 

The  Kentuckian  was  beginning  a  whistle — a  long,  loud 
whistle  of  intense  astonishment — but  stopped  himself. 

“  Good  Lord!  Yes.  *I  was  right.  I  have  seen  her  before. 
IPs  the  very  woman. 

“  "VYiat  woman ?’^  asked  Susannah  innocently.  She  had 
drifted  away  from  the  subject,  and  become  absorbed  in 
weak  contemplation— of  Jier  boy,  of  course!  his  graceful 
figure,  his  happy,  handsome,  interested  face,  as  he  stood 
talking  to  the  tenor  singer.  In  looking  at  him  and  think¬ 
ing  of  his  future — how  soon  he  would  be  a  man — and  what 
a  good,  clever,  noble  man  he  Avas  likely  to  be — a  common 


KING  AKTHUK.  137 

delusion  of  mothers!  she  had  entirely  forgotten  Lady 
Damerel. 

“What  woman,  Mrs.  Trevena?^^  echoed  Dr.  Franklin 
in  a  sharp  whisper.  “  Why — that  woman  at  Andermatt.^^ 


CHAPTER  VIL 

Theee  is  an  old  comedy  entitled  “  The  Wonder!  A 
Woman  keeps  a  Secret!^'’  Its  author  could  have  known 
very  little  of  human  nature.  How  many  secrets,  not  always 
their  own,  do  women  keep  every  day — out  of  love,  or  a 
sense  of  honor,  or  even  pure  pity!  What  wonderful  strength 
they  J30ssess  in  hiding  what  they  wish  to  hide !  able  to  smile 
with  a  breaking  heart — to  wrap  their  robes  smoothly  and 
even  gracefully  over  the  beast  that  is  gnawing  their  vitals. 
Men  may  be  very  good  at  concealment  on  some  affairs — es¬ 
pecially  their  own;  but  for  absolute  silence — ^years  long — 
life  long,  if  necessary — there  is,  in  spite  of  the  old  dramatist, 
no  secret  keeper  like  a  woman. 

When  Dr.  Franklin  made  the  discovery  of  “  the  woman 
at  Andermatt  — who,  by  the  bye,  must  have  kept  her  se¬ 
cret  pretty  well — Mrs.  Trevena,  startled  as  she  was,  had 
strength  to  whisper  “Hush!^^  for  her  husband  was  close 
behind  them,  and  Arthur  in  front;  and  the  good  doctor 
had  the  sense  to  take  the  hint,  and  also  to  suggest  that  she 
was  looking  tired,  and  they  had  better  go  home. 

“  Make  my  excuses  to  Lady  Damerel.  She  wonT  miss 
me  very  much,"’^  said  he  to  the  unconscious  rector,  and, 
tucking  Mrs.  Trevena  under  his  arm,  he  walked  away. 

Not  too  soon.  Susannah  tottered  blindly — almost  with¬ 
out  speaking  a  word — along  the  path  which  led  to  the  rec¬ 
tory.  But  as  soon  as  she  got  home  she  fainted  outright. 

However,  it  was  too  seriods  a  crisis  for  any  outward  be¬ 
trayal.  Dr.  Franklin  brought  her  to  herself  without  telling 
the  servants,  and  by  the  time  Mr,  Trevena  and  Arthur  cante 


138 


KING  AETHUK. 


back,  he  and  she  had  talked  the  whole  thing  calmly  over, 
and  made  up  their  minds  to  keep  it  at  present  entirely  be¬ 
tween  their  two  selves. 

That  the  boy  was  Lady  DamereTs  son — ^her  legitimate 
son — was  more  than  possible — probable;  but  how  was  this 
to  be  proved?  Not  by  herself — she  dared  not.  Having 
concealed  his  birth  so  long — for  Sir  Charles,  in  speaking 
of  his  four  children,  was  evidently  quite  ignorant  that  he 
had  had  a  fifth  child — to  confess  her  folly,  or  wickedness, 
to  the  world  and  her  husband,  would  entail  an  amount  of 
scandal  that  few  women  could  dare  to  brave.  Born  in  wed¬ 
lock  the  boy  undoubtedly  was;  but  what  wife^s  fair  fame 
could  come,  out  quite  unspotted  after  such  a  disclosure? 

‘‘  To  run  away  from  her  husband — whether  or  not  she 
went  alone — to  hide  for  months  from  liim — ^to  conceal  her 
baby^s  birth  and  then  sell  it  for  twenty  pounds— Phew!” 
said  the  doctor  with  his  low,  long  whistle,  which  meant  so 
much.  “  You  are  quite  saf©-,  ma^am.  SheTl  never  own 
her  son — she  dare  not.^^ 

Susannah  looked  up.  She  had  at  first  been  utterly 
stunned^ — now  there  came  upon  her  a  sort  of  despair,  or 
rather  desperation — the  blind  fury  which  poets  describe  as 
that  of  a  lioness  robbed  of  her  whelps.  ” 

He  is  my  son — mine!  No  one  has  any  right  to  him 
but  me.^^ 

That  true, answered  Dr.  Franklin  soothingly.  And 
I  doubt  if  Arthur  would  wish  to  have  any  mother  but  you. 
As  for  that  woman  there,  she  has  tied  up  her  own  hands, 
cut  her  own  throat,  as  one  may  say.  He^d  never  care  two¬ 
pence  for  her.  As  for  herself,  it  isnT  a  son  she  wants,  it’s 
an  heir  to  the  baronetcy.  Let  her  be.  It  serves  her  right.  ” 

Such  were  the  good  doctor’s  arguments.  Susannah’s 
brain  whirled  so,  that  for  a  wonder  she  let  another  lead 
her,  and  did  not  attempt  to  think  out  the  question  for  her¬ 
self.  When,  two  hours  after,  Arthur  came  in,  bright 
and  gay,  having  been  exceedingly  amused,  especially  by 


kiKG  ARTHUK.  139 

‘‘  that  dreadful  Lady  Damerel — who  is  one  big  sham  from 
top  to  toe — though  she  does  sing  so  splendidly  — the  whole 
thing  seemed  a  ghastly  nightmare^  out  of  which  she  should 
wake  soon  and  find  it  nothing. 

Yet  when  she  did  wake  next  morning — after  lying  aWake 
half  the  night — ah!  well  she  understood  those  pathetic  lines: 

“  The  tears  o’  my  heart  fa’  in  showers  frae  my  ee’ 

While  my  gudemen  sleeps  soim’  by  me.” 

— then,  Susannah  found  that  yesterday  had  been  not  quite 
nothing.  The  mental  agony,  the  perpetual  self-restraint 
which  it  imposed,  were  so  hard  to  bear  that  she  was  almost 
relieved  when  Dr.  Franklin,  who  was  obliged  to  leave  next 
day,  proposed  taking  his  godson  with  him;  and  Arthur, 
with  a  boy’s  natural  delight  at  the  idea  of  seeing  London, 
was  eager  to  go. 

But  not  if  you  want  me,  mother.  Ill  not  go  anywhere, 
or  do  anything,  that  you  don’t  wish.” 

I  only  wish  what  is  for  your  good,  my  darling!”  She 
had  of  late  given  up  all  pet  names,  knowing  how  school-boys 
dislike  them;  but  to-day  she  felt  he  was  her  darling — the 
very  core  of  her  heart,  and  the  delight  of  her  eyes — in  whose 
future  she  had  re-embarked  many  a  shipwrecked  hope, 
many  a  broken  dream.  With  difficulty  she  restrained  her¬ 
self  from  falling  on  Arthur’s  neck  in  a  burst  of  bitter  tears. 

It  is  for  his  good,”  said  Dr.  Franklin,  with  emphasis, 
and  yet  with  a  compassionate  look  in  his  kind  eyes.  “  Give 
him  a  bit  of  pleasure  with  me,  and  then  let  him  set  to 
work.  It’s  the  best  thing  in  the  world  for  a  lad  to  be 
obliged  to  work.  Far  better  for  him  ” — this  was  said  with 
meaning  and  decision — far  better  than  if  he  were  heir  to  a 
title  and  several  thousands  a  year.” 

‘‘Thank  you — God  bless  you!”  murmured  Mrs.  Tre- 
vena,  as  she  wrung  her  friend’s  hand  at  parting;  feeling  that 
under  his  rough  speech  and  queer  un-English  ways  there 
lay  hidden  a  heart  of  gold. 


140  KIN'G  ARTHUR. 

After  fiwliile,  her  agony  of  api^reliension,  her  feeling 
that  the  whole  Avorld  was  slipping  away  from  under  her 
feet,  slowly  subsided.  Ltfe  at  the  rectory  went  on  as  usual 
— nothing  happened — nobody  came.  She  did  not  see  Lady 
Damerel  at  church,  for  Sir  Charles  had  caught  cold  at  the 
garden-party;  an  attack  of  rheumatism  severer  than  ordi¬ 
nary  had  supervened;  and  the  village  heard,  with  little  inter¬ 
est,  that  he  and  ‘‘  my  lady  had  gone  to  Bath  for  several 
months.  Tawton  Abbas  was  shut  up,  and  the  rector  and 
his  wife  wandered  at  ease  about  the.  lovely  park — she  with 
the  strangest  of  feelings,  and  sometimes,  in  spite  of  what 
Dr.  Franklin  had  said,  with  a  doubt  whether  she  were  right 
or  wrong  in  accepting  the  position  of  things,  and  letting  all 
drift  on  in  silence,  as  heretofore. 

It  may  seem  almost  incredible,  even  in  this  simple- 
minded  and  unworldly  woman — but  the  last  thing  she 
thought  of  was  the  worldly  benefits — the  title  and  estate  to 
which  her  Arthur  might  be  the  lawful  heir.  Had  he  been 
proved  the  legitimate  son  of  worthy  parents,  she  could  have 
given  him  up,  she  thought,  though  it  broke  her  heart — but 
to  give  him  up  to  such  as  Lady  Damerel — never! 

Better  that  he  should  begin  life  simply  as  an  adopted 
son — ^work  his  own  way  in  the  world,  and  win  a  name  for 
himself,  for  which  he  was  indebted  to  nobody.  Unworthy 
parents  are  worse  than  none. 

Three  months  had  gone  by,  and  Arthur  was  just  coming 
home  for  Christmas,  after  having  worked  ‘‘  like  a  brick,^'’ 
he  wrote,  and  being  in  cheerful  hope  of  the  scholarship — 
before  Mrs.  Trevena  found  herself  again  face  to  face  with 
the  woman  whom  she  believed  to  be  her  boy^s  mother. 

It  happened  in  this  wise — apj^arently  by  accident.  Lady 
Damerel  suddenly  appeared  at  church;  having  come  to 
Tawton  Abbas  for  three  days,  to  order  the  distribution  of 
coals,  blankets,  and  Christmas  beef — she  never  omitted 
those  external  duties  by  which  many  people  square  accounts 
with  Heaven,  and  keep  up  a  good  character  on  earth.  Con- 


ktkct  authur. 


sequently  slie  alwa3"s  went  to  church,  rain  or  fair — and  this 
day  there  fell  a  heavy  storm  of  December  rain.  The  rector 
and  his  wife  found  her  lingering  near  the  chancel  door. 

Will  you  give  me  shelter  for  a  few  minutes?^'’  she  asked, 
in  her  Sweetest  and  most  condescending  manner;  and  Mr. 
Trevena  courteously  escorted  her  under  his  umbrella  to  the 
rectory. 

She  had  seldom  been  there;  only  for  one  or  two  formal 
calls;  but  now  she  sat  down  in  the  little  drawing-room  as  if 
she  meant  friendliness  rather  than  formality.  After  some 
courteous  small  talk  about  Sir  Charleses  illness,  and  the 
cause  of  it,  chiefly  directed  to  Mr.  Trevena — Lady  Damerel 
was  always  charming  to  gentlemen — she  said  carelessly — 

You  went  away  from  my  garden-party  quite  early,  Mrs. 
Trevena,  before  I  had  time  to  speak  to  that  tall  friend  of 

yours — Mr. -  what  was  his  name?  An  American,  did 

you  say?  I  rather  like  Americans. 

Susannah  was  not  a  coward — her  husband  sometimes 
said  of  her,  Avith  his  tender  jesting,  that  she  would  go  up 
to  a  cannon ^s  mouth  ” — if  necessary.  She  felt  something 
like  it  now.  Looking  full  in  Lady  DamereLs  face,  she 
replied: 

“  He  is  not  Mr.  but  Dr.  Franklin,  a  countryman  of  yours 
(Sir  Charles  said  you  are  American) — and  a  physician  in 
New  York.^’ 

Ah!  New  York.  But  I  am  Southern.  I  was  born  in 
Baltimore. 

“  He  said  you  reminded  him  of  the  Baltimore  belles, 
innocently  observed  the  rector.  ‘‘  He  thought  he  had  met 
you  somewhere.  He  is  an  excellent  man.  We  made 
acquaintance  Avith  him  long  ago,  Avhen  traveling  abroad; 
where  he  once  did  my  Avife,  and  me  too,  what  has  turned  out 
to  be  a  great  service.  Our  son,  whom  of  course  you  knoAV 
all  about,  is  his  godson. 

“  Oh,  indeed,  carelessly  answered  Lady  Damerel,  with 


U2 


KING  ARTHURi 


tlie  air  of  a  person  not  much  interested  in  other  people 
aifairs.  Has  your  friend  gone  back  to  America?^^ 

‘‘  He  sailed  yesterday — Arthur  went  to  Liverpool  to  see 
him  off/^ 

How  kind!  By  the  way,  that  son  of  yours^I  must 
secure  him  as  our  accompanist  next  time  I  have  musical 
people  in  the  house.  He  plays  extremely  well.  Is  he  to  be 
a  professional?^^ 

“  Oh  no!^^  said  the  rector  with  something  more  than  dis¬ 
taste.  “  He  is  trying  for  a  scholarship  at  New  College, 
Oxford,  which  his  Winchester  masters  think  he  is  sure  to 
get.  He  is  a  very  clever,  as  well  as  a  diligent  boy.'’^ 

And  the  good,  unobservant,  unreticent  Austin  went  into 
details  about  Arthur ^s  future  university  career,  without 
noticing  the  absent  smile  with  which  Lady  Damerel  listened; 
most  people — even  parents — are  indifferent  enough  to  other 
people^s  children. 

“  Ah,  yes — Mr.  Arthur ^s  success  must  be  a  great  pleas¬ 
ure  to  his  father  and  mother.  My  children  were  never 
clever,  nor  handsome  either,  poor  little  things!  Your  son 
is  your  only  one,  I  conclude?  Born  late  in  life,  and  of 
course  his  parents^  darling?^^ 

All  this  while  Susannah  had  sat  silently  observant— also, 
not  a  little  amazed.  First,  at  the  extraordinary  self-com¬ 
mand  of  the  woman,  supposing  she  really  was  the  woman 
that  Dr.  Franklin  believed  her  to  be;  and  next,  that’ she 
should  be  so  ignorant  of  her  neighbors^  affairs  as  never  to 
have  heard  about  Arthur.  And  yet  this  was  not  impossi¬ 
ble.  In  eighteen  years  the  story  had  died  out;  people  had 
accepted  him  so  completely  as  the  rector^ s  son — at  least  in 
the  village;  and  beyond  it  the  Trevenas  knew  almost  nobody. 
With  a  sudden  desperate  resolve  Susannah  determined  to 
put  Lady  Damerel  to  the  test — to  tell  her  the  facts,  which 
she  must  hear  ere  long,  and  which  it  was  astonishing  she 
had  never  heard  before.  ‘‘  Tell  the  truth  and  shame  the 
devil  — but  it  was  equally  to  exorcise  the  devil — that  evil 


KING  AliTHUK. 


143 


spirit  which  prompted  her,  the  gentle  Mrs.  Trevena,  to  fly 
at  Lady  Lamerers  throat  and  strangle  her. 

Looking  her  full  in  the  face  she  said  distinctly,  ‘‘  I  think 
you  do  not  understand — though  it  is  surprising  you  should 
never  have  heard — that  Arthur  is  not  oiir  own  son;  we 
have  no  living  children.  Dr.  Franklin  found  him  for  us, 
and  advised  us  to  adopt  him.  We  do  not  know  who  were 
his  parents,  but  he  was  born  at  Andermatt,  in  Switzer¬ 
land.^^ 

Human  nature  can  not  altogether  suppress  itself.  What¬ 
ever  Lady  Damerel  had  come  to  seek,  she  had  evidently 
found  something  she  neither  sought  nor  desired.  Her  cheek 
grew  ghastly  under  its  paint.  She  clutched  the  arm  of  the 
chair  as  if  to  save  herself  from  falling.  Even  the  unob¬ 
servant  Austin  could  not  help  seeing  something  was  amiss, 
and,  courteously  observing  that  the  room  was  very  hot, 
went  to  open  the  window. 

Thank  you — but  I  am  not  ill — only  fatigued — worn  out 
with  nursing  my  husband."’^  And  then,  turning  round  to 
Susannah  with  that  mechanical  smile  which  people  learn  to 
use  in  society  as  well  as  on  the  stage,  she  said — It  is  kind 
of  you  to  give  me  this  confidence.  I  did  not  know  the  boy 
was  not  your  own.  He  is — a  fine  boy — and  does  you  great 
credit. 

And  again  that  ghastly  pallor — was  it  emotion  or  only 
fear? — came  over  her  face,  till  Mr.  Trevena  offered  to  fetch 
her  a  glass  of  wine,  and  looked  toward  his  wife  for  sympathy 
and  assistance. 

But  there  was  no  pity — not  a  jot! — in  Susannah^s  eyes, 
or  in  her  hard,  cold  voice. 

‘  ‘  Lady  Damerel  should  have  ordered  her  carriage.  I  am 
sorry  I  have  no  servant  here  to  send.  And  my  son  is  not 
at  home.  ” 

“My  son. There  was  no  mistaking  the  word— or  its 
meaning — its  intentional  meaning.  Lady  Damerel  re¬ 
moved  her  hand  from  her  eyes,  and  the  two  women  steadily 


144 


KING  ARTIIUK. 


regarded  one  another.  In  that  moment  both  recognized, 
without  need  of  words,  that  each  was  in  possession  of  the 
other^s  secret,  and  that  between  them  there  Avas  war  to  the 
knife.  All  the  more  deadly  because  it  was  a  silent  war — 
confined  entirely  to  their  two  selves.  The  two  mothers  be¬ 
tween  whom  King  Solomon  judged  could  not  hate  one 
another  with  a  more  deadly  hatred  than  these — the  flcsh- 
and-blood  mother  who  had  thrown  her  blessing  away;  the 
real  mother  who  had  found  it,  aiid  kept  it — yes,  and  W' ould 
keep  it,  in  defiance  'of  the  whole  world. 

Susannah,  just  and  tender  woman  as  she  was,  could  on 
occasion  be  a  stern  woman  too.  She  had  no  belief  in 
parental  rights,  or  any  rights  at  all,  without  their  corre¬ 
sponding  duties.  Years  ago  she  carried  off  little  Kanny, 
and  would  have  hidden  her  from  her  father,  separated  them 
entirely,  by  fair  means  or  foul,  until  the  child  was  old 
enough  not  to  be  harmed  by  the  man  to,  whom  she  owed 
nothing  but  the  mere  accident  of  paternity.  What  Mrs. 
Trevena  then  did — and  would  have  persisted  in  doing  had 
not  fate  made  it  unnecessary — from  pure  pity,  without  any 
personal  love  for  Nanny — would  she  not  be  ready  now  to  do 
for  her  own  Arthur? 

Had  Lady  Damerel  confessed  all,  and  begged  for  the  boy 
— perhaps  even  then  Mrs.  Trevena  might  have  had  no 
mercy.  She  might  have  said,  with  Hr.  Franklin — “  As 
you  made  your  bed  you  must  lie  on  it  — and  dared  the 
unworthy  mother  to  win  one  atom  of  either  duty  or  affec¬ 
tion  from  the  son  she  had  cast  away.  But  if  any  struggle 
'  as  to  the  right  course  was  in  Susannah^s  mind,  she  soon  saw 
it  was  wholly  unnecessary. 

‘‘  Self  preservation*  is  the  first  law  of  nature, says  the 
philosopher;  and  though  sometimes  experience  has  con¬ 
tradicted  this — especially  in  the  case  of  mothers — it  exists 
still. 

After  a  minute  or  two  Lady  Damerel  rose,  her  usual 
stately  self,  and  addressed  the  rector: 


KIKG  AETIIUE. 


145 


“  The  rain  has  abated  now,  and  I  must  not  trouble  you 
any  longer.  I  will  walk  home,  for  I  never  like  to  use  the 
carriage  on  Sundays,  except  for  Sir  Charles.  "VVe  think  of 
trying  the  German  spas  immediately — so  this  must  be  a 
farewell  visit.  Make  my  compliments  to  your  son — I 
mean  your  adopted  son — and  say  I  congratulate  him  and 
his  parents. " 

Evidently  the  so-called  maternal  instinct  was  not  in  the 
woman.  Whether  from  conscious  guilt  or  cowardice,  she 
had  apparently  not  the  slightest  intention  of  acknowledg¬ 
ing  her  child.  A  few  words  of  polite  adieu,  and  she  had 
made  her  escape,  having  betrayed  absolutely  nothing. 

Susannah  was  thankful  that  she  too  had  betrayed  nothing 
-—that  she  had  had  strength  all  these  months  to  bear  her 
own  burden  and  trouble  no  one.  The  crisis  had  come,  and 
passed.  Now  she  could  breathe  again. 

Many  more  weeks  and  months  went  by;  and  untroubled 
peace.  Arthur  was  •  at  Winchester — Sir  Charles  and  Lady 
Damerel  were  traveling  abroad.  Nothing  had  haj^pened: 
and  she  began  to  feel  that  nothing  would  hapjpen:  that  she 
might  live  and  die — dying  did  not  seem  so  far  off  at  nearly 
sixty — with  her  secret  unrevealed,  keeping  Arthur  as  her 
son  till  death. 

He  seemed  more  than  ever  her  son,  when  coming  back 
for  summer  holidays— triumphant  too,  for  he  had  gained 
his  scholarship,  and  was  going  up  to  Oxford  next  term — he 
found  his  ‘‘dear  little  mother^'’  a  good  deal  changed. 
Her  pretty  brown  hair  bad  grown  silver- white;  her  bright 
cheerfulness — the  gayety  of  sound  pure  health,  though  she 
was  never  robust— had  greatly  departed.  He  could  not 
understand  it.  She  said  she  was  “  quite  well  — “  quite 
happy  — but  she  seemed  so  quiet,  so  suddenly  changed 
from  a  middle-aged  into  an  old  woman.  He  wondered 
nobody  saw  it — not  even  her  husband. 

“  Papa,^^  he  said,  “  I  think  mother  wants  a  little  nursing 
and  companionship.  When  I  am  gone  to  Oxford,  suppose 


146 


KING  AETHUK. 


you  send  for  Nanny?  Let  her  come  a  day  or  two  before  1 
leave^  and  1^11  teach  her  how  to  take  care  of  mother;  only 
she  is  such  a  child  still— perhaps  she  might  not  under¬ 
stand. 

But  in  spite  of  Arthur ^s  gentle  patronizing,  and  firm 
conviction  that  nobody  could  take  care  of  his  mother  except 
himself — it  was  found  that  Nancy  did  understand;  that 
Miss  Grogan  had  made  a  little  woman  of  her  already,  and 
a  capital  nurse.  Neat,  accurate,  practical:  chary  of  words 
but  prompt  in  deeds;  and  doing  everything  necessary  with¬ 
out  making  any  unnecessary  fuss  about  it,  Nanny,  though 
at  first  not  exactly  welcome  to  her  aunt,  soon  became  so, 
as  well  as  to  her  uncle.  And  though  still  small,  dark,  and 
plain,  there  was  a  sweetness  in  her  brown  eyes,  a  fairy 
lightness  in  her  dainty  figure,  which  made  her  decidedly 
not  ligly.  Youth  never  is  ugly,  unless  it  has  got  an  ugly 
soul. 

She^s  not  so  bad,  is  she,  mother?^^  said  Arthur,  after 
the  first  two  days.  ^he  isn^t  a  beauty  certainly — she 
doesii^t  sweep  about  the  room  like  Lady  Damerel;  but  I 
hate  tall  women!  No  woman  should  ever  be  bigger  than 
my  little  mother.  Nanny  will  never  be  pretty — like  you 
—but  she^s  a  nice  little  thing. 

What  mother  could  resist  such  tender  flattery  from  a  big 
son,  not  twenty  yet,  but  fully  six  feet  high?  What  mother 
could  look  into  that  boyish  face — knowing  the  heart  was  as 
innocent  as  the  face — and  not  feel  that  whatever  he  said 
was  true,  and  whatever  he  did  was  right? 

As  for  the nice  little  thing  — was  it  surprising  that 
she  adored  Arthur?  as  she  had  done  ever  since  she  was  a 
small  child;  though  she  had  ceased  to  show  it  now — at  least 
not  very  much^ — but  Mrs.  Trevena  saw  it  in  her  eyes,  and 
sometimes  felt  a  little  sorry  for  Nanny.  Still,  the  child 
was  only  a  child;  and  Arthur  could  not  be  expected  to  take 
much  notice  of  her — such  a  man  as  he  was  grown — and  just 


KTNG  ARTHtm.  * 

going  up  to  Oxford.  Nor  did  lie  notice  her  at  first;  being 
absorbed  by  his  matriculation  work. 

But  all  young  creatures  hke  one  another's  company;  and 
wdien  of  summer  evenings  the  children  went  off  a  walk 
together,  leaving  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Trevena  sitting  quietly  in 
the  arbor,  Susannah  said  to  herself  that  it  was  quite 
natural. 

She  herself  could  not  take  long  walks  now — nor  could 
she  see  to  read  and  sew  as  she  once  did.  She  had  made 
over  her  work-box  to  the  busy  useful  fingers  of  Nanny. 
And  instead  of  reading  of  evenings,  she  sat  with  her  hands 
folded,  and  thought — we  often  like  thinking  as  we  grow 
old.  Only  it  is  not  of  ourselves  we  think;  our  day  is  all 
done — it  is  of  other  people. 

Strange  it  was — and  yet  perhaps  not  strange — that  the 
last  subject  which  entered  Mrs.  Trevena^s  mind  should 
have  been  that  which  was  most  probable,  most  natural; 
the  story  even  now  beginning  to  act  itself  out  under  her 
very  eyes.  The  old  story,  ever  new,  and  which  will  be 
new  until  the  end  of  the  world. 

She  had  enacted  it  herself  more  than  forty  years  ago, 
for  she  was  very  young  when  she  first  met  Austin  Trevena; 
and  yet  it  never  struck  her  to  think  of  her  boy  as  anything 
but  a  boy,  or  of  Nanny  except  his  small  girl-satellite — 
circling  round  him  with  untiring  and  perfectly  natural 
devotion,  but  of  no  importance  to  him  whatever.  That 
one  was  nearly  a  man,  and  the  other — alas! — perhaps  quite 
a  woman,  did  not  occur  to  Susannah. 

Nor,  for  a  good  while,  to  the  young  people  themselves. 
Their  relations  from  childhood  upward  had  been  completely 
“  Ihin  qui  aime,  V autre  que  se  laisse  Ure  aime  — rather 
liked  it  indeed,  in  an  innocent  way,  for  Arthur  was  neither 
selfish  nor  conceited.  He  had  never  had  a  sister,  and 
honestly  accepted  Nanny  as  such:  teased  her,  petted  her, 
and  took  counsel  of  her  by  turns:  ruled  her,  yet  was  led  by 
her — for  the  little  quiet  girl  had  a  strong  will  of  her  own; 


148 


KIKG  ARTHUIt. 


and  the  winning  power  that  many  plain-looking  but  sweet- 
natured  woman  have,  even  over  the  other  sex.  And 
neither  he  nor  any  one  else  suspected  that  he  was  gradually 
slipping  into  what  worldly  mothers  would  call  an  ‘^en¬ 
tanglement  — ^but  of  which  the  knots  are  often  woven  by 
a  kindly  Providence  to  be  a  man^s  protection  throughout 
life.  Especially  such  an  one  as  Arthur,  who,  out  of  his 
very  simplicity,  affectionateness,  and  lack  of  personal 
vanity,  was  likely  to  attract  every  woman  he  came  near. 

It  was  not  an  ordinary  “  falling  in  love  — ^that  headlong 
tumble  which  parents  and  guardians  so  dread;  but  a  grad¬ 
ual  gliding  into  love;  love  awaking  so  early  that  the  young- 
people  understood  neither  its  nature  nor  its  name.  Eor 
instance,  the  caress  began  when,  the  child’s  poor  mother 
lying  dead  in  the  next  room,  Susannah  had  said,  “  Arthur, 
kiss  Nanny  ” — was  continued  quite  naturally,  at  meetings 
and  partings,  until  the  very  day  that  Arthur  left  for  Ox¬ 
ford;  when  his  mother  noticed,  with  some  momentary  sur¬ 
prise,  that  they  merely  shook  hands.  But  she  soon  forgot 
it — her  own  heart  wag  so  full.  And  when  the  little  Nanny, 
who  found  her  wandering  forlornly  about  the  empty  house 
' — so  very  empty  now  Arthur  was  gone — took  her  hand  and 
kissed  it,  Mrs.  Trevena  embraced  her  with  a  burst  of  feel¬ 
ing,  as  being  the  one  other  person  who  missed  Arthur  near¬ 
ly  as  much  as  his  mother  did. 

** 

Shortly  afterward,  Nanny  was  summoned  back  to  Miss 
Grogan,  who  was  seriously  ill,  and  needed  her  sorely.  Both 
her  uncle  and  aunt  missed  her  too — a  good  deal.  Likewise 
at  Christmas,  when  she  had  promised  to  return,  but  did 
not,  and  the  rectory  household  had  to  make  the  best  of  the 
busy  time  without  her.  Mr.  Trevena  distributed  his  coals 
and  blankets  alone;  and  Arthur  wandered  aimlessly  about 
the  deserted  park — for  the  Damerels  were  still  away.  Both 
father  and  son  openly  lamented  Nanny,  who  was  “  so  fun¬ 
ny,”  and  “  so  useful,”  to  which  the  mother,  shut  helplessl}" 
in-doors,  agreed  with  a  sympathizing  smile,  hiding  a  silent 


KTNOt  AKTlTUll. 


U9 

pain  tliat.slie  could  l3e  no  longer  all  they  required,,  to  either 
husband  or  son.  But  it  soon  passed — they  were  botli  well 
and  strong  and  happy — and  they  loved  her  so  much  that  as 
long  as  she  sat^,  even  with  folded  hands,  at  the  fireside,  they 
were  sure  to  tliink  it  bright. 

After  Christmas  caiHe  a  sudden  event,  ominous  of 
changes — Miss  Grogan  died.  [Nanny  was  left — as  she  said 
in  her  sorrowful  letter — “  alone  in  the  world.  But,  as  she 
also  said,  she  meant  to  face  the  world,  and  trouble  nobody. 
She  had  had  a  good  education — thanks  to  her  uncle,  and 
her  dear  dead  friend;  and  through  all  her  grief  there  ran  a 
thread  of  cheerful  courage  which  touched  everybody's  heart. 

Nanny  is  sure  to  do  well,^^  said  Mrs.  Trevena,  affec¬ 
tionately.  “  Shall  we  have  her  here  for  awhile?^ ^ 

I  wish  we  could  have  her  here  for  always,^^  answered 
the  rector. 

But,  to  the  surprise  of  both,  Nanny  refused  their  kind¬ 
ness — very  gratefully,  yet  very  firmly.  She  wished  to  begin 
to  work  at  once.  Nothing  would  induce  her,  she  said,  to 
eat  the  bread  of  idleness.  She  intended  to  go  out  as  a  gov¬ 
erness  immediately. 

■  “  Impossible!”  said  her  uncle,  thinking  of  her  as  the  last 
of  the  Trevenas.  “  Impossible,'^  ^  wrote  Arthur  from  Ox¬ 
ford,  assigning  no  reason.  And  impossible added, 
gravely,  Mrs.  Trevena,  who  knew  what  governess-life  is  to 
a  girl  of  eighteen. 

But  fate — in  the  shape  of  Mr.  Hardy — Arthur-’s  High 
Church  friend,  stepped  in  and  settled  the  difficulty.  He 
had  a  widowed  sister  come  to  live  with  him,  who  would  be 
most  thankful  to  get  a  daily  governess  for  her  only  girl. 
“  If  Miss  Trevena  would  condescend,^"’  he  said.  At  least 
so  far  as  to  come  on  a  visit  to  the  rectory,  and  try  it  for 
the  summer.  Miss  Trevena,  being  humble-minded,  and 
strongly  urged  by  both  uncle  and  aunt,  did  condescend — - 
and  cdfne. 

She  looked  so  sweet,  with  her  pale  face  and  her  deep 


ISO 


KING  ARTHUKi 


mourning,  that  all  the  curate  family  fell  in  love  with  her 
at  once;  and  when  Arthur  came  home  for  his  Easter  vaca¬ 
tion  he  found  her  quite  settled :  living  at  the  rectory,  and 
walking  across  the  park  every  day  to  her  wOrk.  It,  and 
what  she  laughingly  called  her ‘‘parish  duties^’ — as  her 
aunt^s  substitute — absorbed  her  so  much  that,  as  Arthur 
openly  complained,  he  saw  almost  nothing  of  her,  and  was 
left  “  out  in  the  cold.  At  which  his  mother  so  compas¬ 
sionated  him  that  she  took  every  opportunity  of  sending 
him  and  Nanny  for  an  evening  walk  together;  rejoicing  to 
see  them  come  back  merry  and  happy.  Their  youthful 
happiness  was  the  greatest*  bliss  she  knew.  It  helped  her 
to  bear  her  own  feebleness  and  weariness;  that  shadow  of 
fast- advancing  old  age — which  had  come  all  the  faster  since 
the  blow  of  last  year. 

Do  what  she  would,  she  could  not  escape-a  perpetual  fear 
of  “  something  happening  — some  effort  on  Lady  Dame- 
reffs  part  to  reclaim  her  son;  or  worse,  some  discovery 
which  might  make  Arthur ^s  birth  not  the  safe  mystery 
that  it  now  was,  but  an  open  disgrace  that  might  wound 
him  to  the  quick — if  a  man  ought  to  be  wounded  by  any¬ 
thing  in  which  he  himself  is  entirely  innocent. 

It  was  not  difficult  to  divine,  or  at  least  to  guess  at.  Lady 
DamereEs  history.  The  beautiful  “  public  woman — half 
a  pariah — as  it  was  then  thought,  though  now,  thank, 
heaven,  many  a  public  and  professional  woman  leads  as 
domestic  a  life  as  any  private  matron  who  “  suckles  fools 
and  chronicles  small-beer  — married  early  to  a  poor  gen¬ 
tleman;  resenting  and  hating  the  restraints  of  home;  heart¬ 
less,  pleasure-loving,  though  not  actually  vicious;  incapa¬ 
ble  of  love,  but  too  selfish  to  degrade  herself;  a  “  woman 
of  genius,’^  possibly,  but  with  an  unwomanly  heart;  de¬ 
testing  children,  and  the  burden  of  them;  disliking  dull¬ 
ness  and  poverty,  and  ready  always  to  act  on  ij^pulse 
rather  than  judgment — it  was  easy  to  see  how  all  had  come 
about. 


KING  AKTHUR. 


151 


Not  so  easy  to  see  how  all  would  end,  or  how  it  ought  to 
end.  Sometimes  Susannah  thought  and  thought,  till  she 
was  half -dazed — she  had  come  to  the  time  when  one  must 
think,  for  one  can  do  little  else;  and  all  one’s  thoughts  are 
for  others — one’s  own  future  is  of  no  interest  now;  but  her 
thoughts  all  came  to  nothing,  for  she  could  do  nothing. 
Also  Dr.  Franklin,  whose  wife  had  burned  the  important 
letter,  wrote  advising  her  to  do  nothing  till  he  came  back 
to  England  next  year. ' 

So  she  drifted  on,  nor  noticed  how  other  things  and  peo¬ 
ple  were  drifting  on  too,  unto  a  future  over  which  she  had 
no  jurisdiction  and  no  claim. 

That  year  spring  came  in  early,  deliciously;  the  tempting 
spring,  when 

“  A  young  man’s  fancy  lightly  turns  to  thoughts  of  love,” 

and  even  old  men — at  any  rate  old  women — turn  half  ten¬ 
derly  to  memories  of  what  love  was,  or  might  have  been — 
when  the  sight  of  a  face,  the  touch  of  a  hand,  brought  un¬ 
utterable,  impossible  bliss.  Even  the  rector  and  his  wife, 
sitting  in  their  lovely  garden,  with  trees  budding,  primroses 
blooming,  and  thrushes  singing — felt  the  nameless  charm, 
and  kept  their  silver  wedding-day  in  tender  content;  Su¬ 
sannah  telling  the  children,”  with  a  sweet  faint  blush  on 
her  old  cheek,  how  she  and  papa  had  met  when  quite 
young,  and  had  made  a  solemn  vow  among  some  gooseber¬ 
ry-bushes — eating  gooseberries  plentifully  meantime — that 
they  would  certainly  be  hnarried  some  day;  which  vow, 
after  half  a  life-time,  they  kept.  But  she  never  noticed — 
nobody  noticed — that  at  her  innocent  little  story  Nanny 
turned  very  pale,  and  Arthur  very  red;  and  they  scarcely 
spoke  to  one  another  for  the  rest  of  the  day. 

It  was  a  rather  momentous  day,  for  both  inward  home 
pleasure  and  outside  news.  Mr.  Hardy  appeared,  in  much 
excitement.  His  gr^eful  bishop  had  that  day  rewarded 
his  long  service  by  an  unexpected  living;  and  though  now 


152 


KING  AKTUUR. 


nigh  upon  forty the  good  curate  was  as  happy  as  a  boy. 
His  vicarage  was  only  a  few  miles  olf^  so  he  would  not  lose 
his  friends  at  the  rectory;  though,  Mrs.  Trevena  suggested, 
Nanny  would  lose  her  pupil.  To  which,  in  some  confu¬ 
sion,  Mr.  Hardy  answered  that  ‘‘  he  was  not  sure.^'’ 

Something  constrained  in  his  manner — and  Nanny^s  too 
— startled  Mrs.  Treven^t  into  remembering  how  very  often 
he  had  been  at  the  rectory  of  late,  and  how  continually  he 
had  walked  home  with  Nanny  across  the  park.  She  smiled 
to  herself,  not  ill-pleased,  for  Mr.  Hardy  was  an  old  friend 
and  an  excellent  man,  young  and  cheerful  for  his  age. 
And  Naiiny,  though  so  much  his  junior,  was  such  a  grave, 
steady,  reliable  little  thing — just  the  girl  for  a  country 
clergyman's  wife.  She  wondered  she  had  never  thought  of 
this  before — and,  woman-like,  was  thinking  it  over  with 
unmixed  satisfaction,  when  a  name  caught  her  ear — the 
name  which,  now  she  had  grown  weak  and  nervous,  always 
seemed  to  go  through  her  like  a  knife. 

Have  you  seen  Lady  Damerel,  Arthur?  I  met  her 
driving,  and  she  asked  me  how  all  was  going  o^i  at  the  rec¬ 
tory,  and  if  you  and  I  would  come  and  have  an  evening  of 
music — quite  quietly — they  have  brought  no  company  down 
with  them.  I  hear  Sir  Charles  has  broken  down  very  much, 
and  can  not  live  long.  Poor  Lady  Damerel 

“Poor  Lady  Damerel,  indeed echoed  Mr.  Trevena. 
“  What  a  change  for  her!  And  they  say  she  hates  the  heir- 
at-law — a  needy  man  with  seven  children.  What  a  pity 
Lady  Damerel  has  none!^^ 

Mr.  Hardy  agreed,  and  again  asked  Arthur  to  come,  as 
“  her  ladyshi]3  — ^lie  always  spoke  with  much  awe  of  her 
ladyship — had  said  she  especially  wished  for  him,  on  ac¬ 
count  of  his  music. 

“  I  won’t  go,”  said  Arthur  decidedly.  “  I  don’t  care 
for  Lady  Damerel,  though  she  does  sing  so  well.  And  why 
doesn’t  she  invite  my  mother?  I’ll  not  go  to  Tawton  Ab- 


KING  ARTHUR.  153 

bas,  or  anywhere,  without  my  little  mother, added  he  ca¬ 
ressingly. 

“  But  your  mother  is  not  able  to  go,  and  I  think  you 
ought,^^  said  the  rector,  who,  like  most  men,  was  not  in¬ 
different  to  the  charming  flattery  of  Lady  Damerel. 

Arthur  looked  at  his  mother. 

‘‘Yes,  go,^^  she  answered — for  a  sudden  desperation  had 
seized  her.  Her  boy  should  see  with  his  own  eyes,  and 
judge  with  his  own  heart,  between  his  natural  unnatural 
mother,  and  the  woman  who  had  been  to  him  everything 
that  a  mother  ought  to  be.  “  Go,^^  she  said,  knotting  her 
trembling  hands  together,  and  hoping  that  no  one  noticed 
in  her  the  slightest  hesitation  or  pain. 

So  it  came  about  that  during  his  Easter  vacation  Arthur 
went  several  times  to  Tawton  Abbas,  which,  notwithstand¬ 
ing  Sir  Charles’s  critical  state,  was  full  of  company— Lady 
Damerel  would  not  live  without  it;  company  among  whom 
a  young  Oxford  man  who  was  handsome  and  ready-witted, 
could  play  and  sing,  act  and  dance,  with  equal  facility  and 
enjoyment,  was  most  valuable — and  valued.  Arthur  de¬ 
clared  it  was  “  capital  fun,”  and  took  all  his  “  spoiling  ” 
W'ith  the  most  frank  unconcern,  coming  home  and  joking 
about  it  to  his  mother  and  Yanny.  Between  the  Arcadian 
life  of  mornings  with  Nanny,  and  the  fashionable  life  of 
evenings,  or  rather  nights — for  he  genei’ally  came  back 
from  Tawton  Abbas  when  all  the  rectory  had  gone  to  bed 
— the  young  fellow  seemed  to  be  thoroughly  enjoying  him¬ 
self — till  one  day. 

Mr.  Hardy  after  a  long  walk  with  Arthur,  an  interview 
with  Mr.  Trevena  in  the  study,  and  another  with  Mrs. 
Trevena  in  the  garden,  formally  made  an  offer  of  marriage 
to  Miss  Trevena;  he  did  it  in  the  ]3roperest,  most  orthodox 
way — indeed  the  good  man’s  wooing  seemed  like  a  bit  out 
of  Sir  Charles  Grandison,  only  that  he  proved  to  be  not 
the  “  man  of  men  ”  to  his  Miss  Byron. 

Exceedingly  agitated,  more,„so  than  her  aunt  ex^jected  or 


154 


KING  ARTHUR. 


could  account  for,  the  little  girl,^’  now  advanced  to  the 
dignity  of  a  woman,  declared  she  had  never  given  the 
slightest  encouragement  to  her  suitor,  and  would  certainly 
not  many  him.  To  all  arguments  from  Mrs.  Trevena, 
and  a  few  very  lame  ones  from  Arthur — whom  Mr.  Hardy 
had  made  his  confidant,  and  imj)lored  to  use  his  brotherly 
influence — Hanny  answered,  jjale  as  death,  but  with  firm 
composure,  that  she  had  made  up  her  mind  not  to  marry 
anybody,  and  did  not  wish  another  word  said  on  the  subject. 

So,  within  a  few  hours,  the  thunder-storm  came,  broke, 
and  passed  away;  but  it  left  a  troubled  atmosphere  in  the 
happy  family.  The  rector  could  not  get  over  his  startled  per¬ 
plexity  at  finding  his  little  niece  a  woman,  and  Mrs.  Trevena 
knew  enough  of  the  cares  of  governess-ship  to  regret  that 
Nanny  should  not  escape  from  them  into  the  blessed  haven 
of  domestic  life.  To  her  Mr.  Hardy  seemed  very  lovable; 
but  evidently  Nanny  did  not  love  him — and  this  wise  fool¬ 
ish  old  woman,  who  still  believed  in  love,  had  not  another 
word  to  say. 

The  storm  had  passed,  but  it  left  its  traces  behind.  Nan¬ 
ny  looked  dull  and  sad,  and  Arthur,  who  for  some  reason 
or  other  did  not  ‘‘  go  up  for  a  few  days  after  term  began, 
was  not  himself  at  all. 

Is  anything  vexing  you,  my  boy?^^  asked  his  mother 
one  night  when  he  came  in  from  his  usual  evening  enter¬ 
tainment  at  Tawtbn  Abbas.  He  tried  to  put  her  off — scold¬ 
ing  her  for  sitting  up,  and  declaring  it  was  because  she 
knew  how  pretty  she  looked  in  her  dressing-gown  and  her 
picturesque  night-cap.  But  she  saw  something  was  amiss, 
and  at  last,  taking  his  candle  out  of  his  hand,  and  making 
him  sit  down  beside  her,  she  found  it  out. 

‘‘  That  Lady  Hamerel  is  an  odd  woman — a  very  odd 
woman, he  said.  ‘‘  What  do  you  think  she  wants  me  to 
do?  To  give  up  my  quiet  life  at  Oxford — I^m  obliged  to 
be  a  reading  man,  you  know,  or  else  I  couldn^t  make  ends 
meet — and  go  in  for  a  re^lar  jolly  life.  And  she’d  give^ 


KING  ARTHUK.  155 

me  three  hundred  a  year  to  do  it  with.  Did  you  ever  hear 
of  such  an  offer — from  a  complete  stranger  too?'’^ 

And  you  answered?'’^ 

I  said  I  was  much  obliged,  of  course,  but  that  I  had  no 
idea  of  being  a  pensioner^  on  any  oner’s  bounty.  I  meant  to 
stand  on  my  own  feet  and  earn  my  own  living  as  soon  as 
ever  I  could. 

“  And  she?^^ 

Oh!  she  took  it  coolly  enough — as  she  does  everything; 
said  I  might  please  myself,  but  I  had  better  think  it  over 
— only  I  must  speak  to  no  one  about  it.  ‘  Except  my 
mother,  ■’  I  said,  and  then  she  laughed — Lady  Damerel  has 
the  most  unpleasant  laugh  I  ever  heard.  I  canH  like  her 
for  all  her  kindness,  and  I  won^t  try.  And  so  I  won^’t  ac¬ 
cept  anything  from  her — not  a  thing,  added  Arthur  de¬ 
cidedly.  Don’t  you  think  I  am  right,  mother?” 

“Yes,”  Susannah  said  beneath  her  breath.  She  was 
clutching  her  boy’s  hand — caressing  it  and  patting  it,  as 
she  used  to  do  when  he  was  a  baby. 

“  I  can’t  imagine  why  she  should  make  such  a  fuss  over 
me.  It’s  bothering — it’s  humiliating.  Can  she  do  it  out 
of  compassion?  or  impertinent  patronizing  from  a  grand 
lady  to —  Mother,”  he  added  abruptly,  “  do  you  think 
Lady  Damerel  knows  who  I  am?  I  mean — does  she  know 
I  have  no  right  to  the  name  I  bear?” 

“Everybody  knows  everything,  my  darling,”  said  Su¬ 
sannah.  “  It  was  the  only  right,  safe,  and  honorable  way. 
Everybody  recognizes  you  as  our  dear  adopted  son,  who 
will  be  a  credit  to  our  name,  and  make  a  name  for  himself 
besides — as  a  brave  man  can.  ” 

“  And  I  will.  But,  mother,  sometimes — it’s  rather 
hard.” 

Susannah  did  not  deny.  She  knew,  to  the  very  bottom 
of  her  soul,  that  it  was  hard. 

“  If  I  were  a  girl  now,  it  wouldn’t  matter.  King  Co- 
phetua  may  woo  the  beggar-maid;  and  if  she  js  a  queenly 


15  6 


KIKG  ARTHUR. 


maid,  and  deserves  him,  it’s  all  right — nobody  asks  any 
questions.  Poor  old  Hardy  asked  none  about  Nanny.  She 
might  never  have  had  a  father  or  a  mother  for  all  he  cared. 
He  loved  her  for  herself.  And  he  was  sure  of  himself — 
that  he  could  offer  her  a  good  income  and  an  honest  name, 
and  creditable  relations.  Now,  if  I  were  to  ask  a  girl  to 
marry  me — not  that  I’m  going  to,  without  one  halfpenny 
to  rub  upon  another — but  if  I  were~and  her  father  j^nt 
the  plain  question,  ‘  Who  are  you?’  what  should  I  say?  It’s 
funny,  mother!  but  you  must  allow  it’s  a  little  hard.” 

He  laughed — not  without  bitterness — the  bitterness  that 
she  had  long  foreseen  must  come,  and  wondered  it  had  not 
come  sooner.  How  could  she  help  him?  By  telling  him 
the  truth,  which  might  be  cruder  than  ignorance?  *And 
besides,  she  herself  did  not  absolutely  know  the  truth — she 
only  guessed  at  it.  If  she  could  have  proved  it,  and  there¬ 
by  given  her  son  name,  fortune,  every  possible  worldly 
prosperity,  no  matter  though  she  robbed  herself  of  all  the 
joy  of  her  life — still  Susannah  was  the  kind  of  woman  to 
have  done  this. 

Not  now.  It  might  be  that  Arthur’s  finding  out  the 
truth  would  take  from  him  what  he  had,  and  give  him 
nothing  in  return — leave  him  worse  than  nameless,  worse 
than  parentless.  She  looked  up  at  him  as  he  stood  there — 
pale  with  a  deeper  emotion  than  she  had  ever  yet  seen  in 
him,  but  young,  strong,  resolute,  able  to  take  his  destiny 
in  his  own  hands  and  carve  out  his  own  future — the  best 
thing  that  can  happen  to  any  young  man. 

‘‘  Arthur,”  she  said,  “it  is  hard — in  some  ways;  but  if 
I  were  you  I  would  not  be  afraid.  What  does  your  favorite 
poet  say? 

“  ‘  For  man  is  man  and  master  of  his  fate.* 

So  are  you.  And  sometimes,”  she  spoke  bitterly,  remem¬ 
bering  old  days,  “it  is  almost  a  blessing  to  have  no  rela¬ 
tions,  ” 


KING  AKTHUR.  157 

‘'You  are  thinking  of  papa  and  his  brother — Nanny’s 
father — Avhom  I  hated.  He  was  so  cruel  to  Nanny.” 

“  Yes,  but  we  have  forgotten  that  now.  Nanny  has  not 
a  bit  of  her  father  in  her,  except  his  name.  She  is  upright, 
honest,  independent — sure  to  do  well  in  the  world.  And 
so  will  you.” 

Arthur’s  eyes  brightened.  “  I  will  try.” 

“  And  remember,  my  boy — every  one  has  something  to 
fight  with — some  evil  fate  to  master.  I  mastered  mine, 
and  God  gave  me  you.  My  dear,  isn’t  it  worth  a  little  to 
you  that  He  also  gave  you  your  mother?” 

She  held  out  her  arms  to  him;  and,  big  fellow  as  he  was, 
the  boy  knelt  down,  laid  his  head  on  her  lap,  and  wept  like 
a  child. 

That  night  Susannah  made  up  her  mind.  Come  what 
might,  she  would  be  resolved;  she  would  find  out  the  whole 
truth.  Her  son  should  not  be  lured  from  her  by  tempta¬ 
tions  of  the  world,  the  flesh,  and  the  devil.  If  he  went  he 
should  go  open-eyed — choosing  deliberately  between  her  and 
Lady  Damerel;  the  simple,  pure,  righteous  life  in  which 
he  had  been  brought  up,  and  the  shallow  worldly  life  they 
led  afc  Tawton  Abbas. 

So,  next  day,  when  the  rector  and  Nanny  had  gone  on 
their  parish  rounds  together,  and  Arthur  was  amissing 
somewhere — he  was  often  amissing  now;  being  restless, 
unhappy,  weary  of  his  own  company,  and  other  people’s, 
too — Mrs.  Trevena  gathered  up  all  her  feeble  strength,  and 
set  out  to  walk  alone  across  the  park  to  the  great  house. 
A  short  stroll,  yet  she  had  not  done  so  much  for  many 
months.  But  the  more  fast-increasing  she  felt  her  weak¬ 
ness,  the  more  she  was  determined  to  conquer  it,  and  to 
work  while  it  was  day. 

It  was  a  lovely  morning;  the  sky  bright  with  floating 
wliite  clouds,  the  trees  in  the  park  ah’eady  growing  green. 
What  a  beautiful  park  it  Avas!  For  nearly  twenty  years 
she  had  watched  it,  budding  Avith  spring,  deepening  mto 


m 


KING  ARTHUK. 


the  full  verdure  of  summer;  then  melting  to  the  glowing 
tints  of  autumn,  and  the  scarcely  less  lovely  whiteness  of 
winter.  How  she  had  admired  and  enjoyed  it!  much  more, 
probably,  than  its  successive  tenants  had  done.  Infinitely 
more,  alas!  than  its  owner,  poor  Sir  Charles!  whom  she- 
saw  coming  toward  her  down  the  path  in  his  Bath-chair. 
At  first  she  thought  she  would  avoid  him;  and  then — no! 

Sir  Charles  was  such  a  permanent  invalid,  such  an  un¬ 
considered  nothing  in  the  Damerel  establishment,  that  Mrs. 
Trevena  had  rarely  spoken  to  him.  The  chair,  with  its 
melancholy  occupant  and  the  tall  footman  lounging  beside 
it,  was  passing  her  by,  when  she  stopped  it — half  ashamed 
of  herself  to  think  that  it  was  not  for  pity  she  did  so.  She 
addressed  the  old  man  courteously  and  kindly,  but  vainly 
she  tried  to  get  a  coherent  word  from  him.  He  “was  evi¬ 
dently  paralyzed,  for  his  speech  was  thick,  and  his  face  ex¬ 
pressionless.  His  hands,  distorted  with  rheumatism,  lay 
helpless  in  his  lap — yet  he  must  have  been  a  handsome 
man  once.  He  had  sweet  soft  eyes,  blue  even  yet — as  blue 
as  Arthur^s;  and  the  clear-cut  aquiline  features  of  the 
JDamerels — a  nose  as  big  as  mine,^^  she  remembered 
Arthur  had  once  said.  Yes,  withered  and  old  as  it  was, 
the  face  was  Arthur ^s  face — the  smile  was  Arthur ^s  smile. 
Nature  nad  avenged  herself  upon  the  careless  wife,  the  un¬ 
thankful  mother,  with  circumstantial  evidence  stronger 
than  any  words.  Mrs.  Trevena  saw- — and  wondered  she 
had  never  seen  it  before — that  if  Sir  Charles  Damerel  and 
Arthur  were  set  side  by  side,  no  one  could  doubt  that  the 
boy  was  his  father^’s  son. 

Well,  it  was  good  to  be  assured — whatever  might  hap¬ 
pen;  also  with  a  sad  pity  that  removed  all  conscience-stings 
as  to  any  claim  of  the  father  on  the  son,  she  felt  that  this 
poor  dead-alive  wreck  of  humanity  was  long  past  being 
affected,  for  good  or  ill,  by  anything  that  did  happen.  To 
find  a  son  would  be  to  Sir  Charles  now  neither  joy  nor 
pain.  It  was  Lady  Damerel  only  with  whom  Mrs.  Trovena 


KIKG  ARTHUH. 


159 


had  to  do  battle;  and  would  do  it,  putting  herself  and  her 
feelings  entirely  aside — as  she  had  had  to  do  all  her  life;  a 
curious  contrast  to  that  other  woman,  to  whom  self  had 
been  first  object  always. 

It  was  so  still,  to  judge  by  the  luxury  of  the  morning- 
room,  into  which  Mrs.  Trevena  was  shown.  All  looked 
couleior  de  rose,  down  to  the  very  hangings,  which  were  so 
placed  as  to  throw  a  becoming  glow  on  the  faded  face  of  the 
passee  beauty  who  was  afraid  to  be  old.  Susannah,  catch¬ 
ing  sight  of  herself  in  the  numerous  mirrors,  and  conscious 
of  her  trembling  limbs  and  beating  heart,  knew  that  she 
was  old — no  doubt  about  that  now !  But  she  grieved  not, 
feared  not.  All  the  more  reason  that  she  should  do  what 
she  had  to  do,  without  delay. 

AVhat  was  there  to  do?  Nothing,  it  seemed,  by  the  easy 
condescending  smile  with  which  the  great  lady  received  the 
rector^s  wife,  and  the  pleasure  she  expressed  at  Mrs.  Tre- 
vena^s  being  able  to  walk  so  far,  for  a  mere  call. 

“  It  is  not  a  mere  call.  I  wanted  to  speak  to  you.^^ 

Lady  Damerel  started  an  instant — and  then  resumed  her 
pohte  smile  of  attention. 

I  am  sure  anything  I  can  do  for  you,  or  for  our  excel¬ 
lent  rector — 

“  Thank  you — my  husband  and  I  want  nothing.  But 
you  have  offered  to  do  something  for  my  son,  which  he  can 
not  accept — which  I  do  not  wish  him  to  accept.'’^ 

.‘‘Whynot?^" 

“  Because  it  is  unseemly,  and  humiliating,  for  a  young 
man  to  receive  a  large  annual  income  from  the  bounty  of — 
a  stranger. 

Lady  Damerel  put  her  fan  before  her  face,  with  an  air 
as  nonchalant  as  it  was  graceful;  scarcely  to  hide  emotion; 
there  seemed  none  to  hide. 

“  I  hope  that  Arthur  she  saw  Mrs.  Trevena  wince — * 
“  I  beg  his  pardon,  Mr.  Arthur,  does  not  consider  me  quite 
a  stranger.  I  like  the  young  man;  he  is  useful  and  pleas- 


IGO 


KIKCt  ARTHUK. 


ant  to  me — who  have  no  children  of  niy  own.  If  I  wish  to 
help  him  why  should  you  hesitate  to  accept  my  olTer?^^ 

“  I  do  not  hesitate/^  said  Susannah;  I  absolutely  re¬ 
fuse.  While  I  live,  my  son  shall  never  he  indebted  for  a 
halfpenny  to  any  one  but  his  mother. 

I  thought  you  told  me  you  were  not  his  own  mother?"’^ 
“  I  am  not.  Are  you?^^ 

The  question  was  so  sudden — so  direct — delivered  with 
the  intensity  almost  of  a  blow,  struck  as  it  were  for  dear 
life — that  it  fell  upon  Lady  Damerel  like  blow.  She  sprung 
up  in  her  chair. 

What  right  have  you  to  say  this — what  proofs  can  you 
give? — Mrs.  Trevena,  how  dare  you— ?^^ 

I  dare  do  anything,  if  it  is  for 'my  son^s  sake,  my  hoy, 
whom  I  took  as  a  little  baby — whom  I  have  brought  up — 
who  has  been  all  in  all  to  me  these  twenty  years — the  best 
son  that  ever  mother  had.  How  dare  you  come  between  me 
and  him?  How  can  you,  if,  as  I  believe,  you  are  the  wom¬ 
an  that  deserted  him,  sold  him,  think  to  buy  him  back 
again  with  your  miserable  money?  How  dare  you,  I  say?^^ 
As  Susannah  spoke,  the  passion  of  her  voice  startled  even 
herself.  But  it  met  no  response,  either  of  fear  or  anger. 
Lady  Damerel  sat  down  again  with  a  slight  laugh. 
This  is — an  amusing  fiction.  But  even  if  it  were  the 
truth — 

'Ht  is  the  truth,  and  you  know  it.  And  you  know  that 
Dr.  Franklin  knows  it  too.  He  will  be  coming  back  to 
England  shortly;  he  and  I  between  us  can  prove  everything 
— everything.  And  we  will  do  it.^^ 

Lady  Damerel  smiled  still;  but  in  somewhat  ghastly 
fashion:  That  would  be  unwise,  Mrs.’  Trevena.  You 

would  lose  your  son,  and  I  should  not  gain  mine.  One 
question — does  he — the  boy — know  it  too?” 

‘‘  He  does  not.  If  he  did,  how  he  would  despise  youl” 
There  was  no  attempt  at  disguise  now.  The  two  women 
sat  looking  at  one  anorher— open  enemies;  tiger-like,  each 


KIKG  ARTHITB. 


lei 


l*ea(ly  for  tlie  next  spring.  But  both  were  very  quiet;  the 
one  through  fear,  the  other  from  speechless  contempt. 
What  would  have  happened  next — -who  can  tell? — but  for 
one  of  those  coincidences  which  occur  sometimes,  in  a  way 
so  natural  that  we  call  it  providential.  As  Susannah  did, 
to  the  end  of  her  days. 

The  door  opened,  and  Arthur  walked  in:  * 

I  hope  I  am  punctual.  Lady  Damerel.  You  told  me 
to  come  at  eleven.  What?^^ — seeing  Mrs.  Trevena — “  Oh, 
mother,  how  wrong  of  you  to  come  alone!  How  tired  you 
look!  Sit  down — sit  down. 

And  he  stood  beside' her,  with  his  hand  laid  caressingly 
on  her  shoulder,  and  his  eyes  full  of  anxiety.  He  had  evi¬ 
dently  no  thought  of  anybody  but  his  mother.  Then,  with 
the  intuition  of  love,  he  saw  that  something  was  the  mat¬ 
ter;  and,  with  his  usual  frankness,  faced  it  at  once. 

“I  conclude.  Lady  Damerel,  you  know  already  what  I 
came  to  tell  you — that  my  mother  would  rather  I  did  not 
accept  your  kindness.  I  agree  with  her.  I  wish  to  make 
my  own  way  in  the  world,  owing  nothing  to  anybody — ex¬ 
cept  my  mother.  ^  ^ 

Was  it  a  lingering  touch  of  human  nature— maternal 
jealousy  if  not  maternal  tenderness  —  that  made  Lady 
DamereTs  lip  quiver  as  she  looked  at  the  handsome,  grace¬ 
ful  youth,  and  the  little  old  woman  over  whom  he  leaned  so 
affectionately. 

‘‘  Your  adopted  mother,  you  mean.  But  decide  as  you 
choose.  I  hope  you  may  not  live  to  regret  it. 

Arthur  flushed  painfully:  ‘‘  Since  you  know  the  truth 
about  my  birth.  Lady  Damerel,  you  will  allow  that  I  am 
right,  not  only  in  loving,  but  in  obeying  my  mother.^'’ 

As  Susannah  clung  to  her  boy^s  hand — the  strong  young 
hand  which  infolded  hers  (and  here  again  Nature  had 
asserted  herself,  for  it  was  the  very  image  of  Lady  Dame- 
reDs) — a  sudden  revulsion  came  over  her.  She  felt  com¬ 
pelled  by  that  sense  of  absolute  right,  quite  irrespective  of 

Q 


KIKCt  ARTHUR. 


worldly  widsom  or  personal  feeling,  that  stern  law — Fais 
ce  que  tu  dois,  advierme  que  pourra!^^  which  strengthens 
some  people — women  especially  —  to  do  by  impulse  that 
which  in  cold  blood  they  would  perhaps  have  shrunk  from 
doing. 

“  Thank  you,  my  own  good  boy!^’  she  said,  with  a  sob. 
‘‘  You  know  hwv  I  have  loved  you.  But  I  am  not  your 
mother.  Your  real  mother — the  woman  who  bore  you — is 
— that  woman  there 

Arthur  sprung  up  as  if  he  he  had  been  shot.  She  my 
mother!  the  mother  who  deserted  me — sold  me? — oh  no, 
mother  darling!  it  can’t  be  true — it  isn’t  true!” 

It  is  true.  She  does  not  deny  it.  Look  at  her.” 

Lady  Lamerel  sat  bolt  upright  in  her  chair — as  white  and 
as  hard  as  marble.  Arthur  took  one  step  toward  her,  and 
then  drew  back. 

‘‘  Thank  you,  mother,  for  telling  me.  I  am  glad  I  know 
this.  It  was  right  I  should  be  told.” 

“  I  did  not  wish  him  to  be  told.  Ho  good  can  come  of 
it,  for  his  father  never  knew  of  his  existence.  I  shall  be 
glad  to  help  him — with  the  half  of  my  fortune  if  he  wishes 
- — after  Sir  Charles’s  death.  But  I  never  can  acknowledge 
him  publicly.  It  would  ruin  me.” 

Lady  Lamerel  spoke  in  a  slow,  cold,  impersonal  voice, 
never  looking  at  her  son.  Nor  did  her  son  look  at  her. 
Bather  he  turned  away  his  eyes,  as  if  the  mere  sight  of  her 
were  painful  to  him.  At  last  he  said,  very  quietly — and 
with  a  strange  absence  of  emotion  which  made  liim  for  the 
moment  almost  resemble  her — 

You  need  not  fear:  I  shall  never  intrude  upon  you.  I 
think  it  would  almost  kill  me  to  have  to  do  my  duty  to 
your  as  your  son.  Good-morning,  Lady  Lamerel.  Come, 
mother,  let  us  go  home.” 

He  placed  Mrs.  Trevena’s  hand  within  his  arm,  and,  with 
a  distant,  stately  bow — a  bow  worthy  of  the  heir  of  all  the 
Damerels — he  quitted  without  another  word  “  the  woman 


KIKG  ARTHUK. 


10:3 


that  bore  him  — who  had  been  to  him  merely  that  and 
nothing  more. 

Lady  Damerel  sat,  in  her  unshared  splendor,  childless 
and  alone.  Her  sin  had  found  her  out.  It  was  a  just  and 
•a  righteous  retribution. 


CHAPTER  VIIL 

•  For  several  days  after  Arthur  discovered  the  truth  about 
his  parentage,  he  and  his  “  mother  never  spoke  on  the 
subject.  He  had  whispered  to  her  on  their  way  home  from 
Tawton  Abbas — Please  don’t  say  a  word  to  me — I  can’t 
bear  it  ” — and  indeed  she  was  utterly  unable  to  say  a  word. 
The  long  strain  being  ended,  a  reaction  came.  Ere  night¬ 
fall  she  was  so  ill  that  Arthur  silently  put  off  his  departure 
for  Oxford;  and  for  many  days  neither  he  nor  any  one  at 
the  rectory  thought  of  aught  but  her — the  center  of  all 
their  love  and  care. 

When  she  revived,  she  found  that  Arthur  had  told  both 
the  rector  and  Eanny  what  had  happened — the  bare  fact 
— no  more — to  save  mother  the  pain  of  telling  it  ’’^ — but 
that  he  had  requested  of  them  total  silence  on  the  subject, 
since  this  discovery  ‘  ‘  made  no  difference  in  anything.  ” 

He  repeated  the  same  to  herself  in  the  few  words  that 
passed  between  them  before  he  started  for  Oxford:  she 
had  thought  it  right  to  speak,  and  explain  to  him  that  even 
though  he  were  the  lawful  heir  of  Tawton  Abbas,  unless 
Lady  Damerel  acknowledged  this,  it  would  be  most  difficult 
to  prove  his  rights. 

‘‘It  does  not  matter,  mother,”  he  said  calmly.  “I 
have  thought  it  all  over,  and  perhaps  ‘  ’Tis  better  as  it  is  ’ 
—as  your  friend  Shakespeare  says.  I  will  make  my  own 
way  in  the  world,  and  be  indebted  to  nobody.  Except  you 
■ — except  you!” 

He  stooped  and  kissed  the  silver  hair — winter  even  within 


KIKG  ARTHUK. 


K>4 

the  last  few  weeks.  Then,  holding  his  head  high,  though 
he  too  looked  older  and  graver — much,  he  bade  her  and 
them  all  a  cheerful  good-bye,  and  went  back  to  his  work. 

From  that  time  Arthur^s  letters  came  regularly,  even 
more  regularly  than  usual.  But  they  were  only  to  his 
mother — not  to  l^anny,  who  had  once  shared  them.  And 
they  were  wholly  about  his  work — or  his  play,  for  he  was 
equally  good  at  both;  as  noted  on  the  river  as  he  was  in  the 
schools.  But  he  never  in  the  least  alluded  to  what,  had 
occurred,  or  implied  that  he  himself  was  in  any  way  diifer- 
ent  from  the  Arthur  Trevena  who  had  been  the  Trevenas* 
only  son,  dearly  beloved,  for  the  last  twenty  years. 

And  Lady  Damerel  made  no  sign.  She  still  stayed  on 
at  Tawton  Abbas — which,  it  was  clear,  poor  Sir  Charles 
was  never  likely  to  leave  again;  but  she  filled  it  with  com¬ 
pany,  as  usual,  and  lived  her  usual  lively  life  there.  Her 
sole  appearance  in  the  village  was  at  church,  where  she 
sat,  erect  as  ever,  in  her  arm-chair;  her  cold,  handsome, 
painted  face,  under  the  thin  gauze  veil  which  she  always 
wore,  contrasting  strangely  with  the  backgound  of  marble 
monuments — the  old  Damerels  to  whom  her  husband  would 
soon  be  gathered.  Sir  Charles,  it  was  rumored,  would  be 
the  last  of  the  name,  though  not  of  the  race;  for  the  next 
heir  being  by  the  female  line,  the  baronetcy  would  become 
extinct.  Though  she  was  little  known,  and  less  liked,  one 
or  two  of  the  more  thoughtful  of  the  congregation,  looking 
at  her,  and  recognizing  what  a  downcome  must  follow  her 
husband/s  death,  sometimes  said — Poor  Lady  Damerel!^^ 

Not  Mrs.  Trevena.  Under  all  her  gentleness  Susannah 
could,  if  need  required,  be  as  hard  as  stone,  and  as  silent. 
She  never,  in  or  out  of  the  house,  except  upon  compulsion, 
mentioned  the  name  of  Lady  Damerel.  She  rose  up  from 
her  illness,  and  went  about  her  duties  as  heretofore — not 
even  allowing  Nanny  to  share  them;  Nanny,  who  still 
lived  at  the  rectory,  nominally,  but  was  rarely  at  home, 
having  obtained  teaching  in  a  neighboring  town.  She  was 


KING  AllTHUR. 


165 


cheerfully  earning  her  honest  bread,  and  evidently  malting 
up  her  mind  to  do  this  all  her  days,  as  if  there  had  been  no 
such  person  as  Mr.  Hardy  in  existence.  She  worked  hard, 
poor  little  thing! — as  her  aunt  had  done  before  her;  and 
her  aunt  appreciated  this,  as  well  as  the  tenderness  which 
made  Nanny,  whenever  she  was  at  home,  as  good  as  any 
daughter. 

But  Susannah  did  not  want  a  daughter.  All  her  heart 
was  bound  up  in  her  son;  and  it  was  a  great  pang  to  her, 
even  though  she  acknowledged  it  might  be  ‘‘  all  for  the 
best  — when  Arthur  announced  his  intention  of  spending 
the  long  vacation  with  a  reading  party  in  Wales.  He 
could  afford  it,  having  earned  some  extra  money  by  acci¬ 
dental  “  coaching.  It  was  good  for  his  health,  his  mother 
argued  to  herself;  and  would  be  more  cheerful  to  him  than 
home — which  he  must  find  rather  dull  now  he  was  a  grown¬ 
up  young  man.  So  she  said  to  Nanii}^,  who  listened  and 
said  nothing;  Nanny  never  did  speak  much  at  any  time. 

Therefore  it  befell  that  for  a  whole  year  Arthur  appeared 
at  the  rectory  only  on  very  short  visits;  between  terms,  or 
after  having  passed  successfully  all  his  examinations.  He 
would  never  set  the  Thames  on  fire  — as  he  one  day 
bade  Nanny  impress  upon  his  mother;  but  he  had  no  fears 
of  failing  in  his  university  career.  Indeed  he  hoped  to  get 
through  it  in  such  a  way  as  to  secure  afterward  his  daily 
bread,  at  least,  probably  as  an  Oxford  coach.  Of  music, 
or  the  musical  career,  he  now  never  spoke  a  word. 

Indeed,  in  many  ways  the  boy  was  much  changed — a  boy 
no  longer,  but  a  man.  In  one  thing,  however,  there  was 
no  change,  but  rather  a  growth — his  tender  devotion  to 
his  mother.  Ay,  even  though  life,  which  with  him  was 
pouring  on  toward  fiood-tide,  with  her  was  at  its  quiet  ebb. 
Though  she  could  not  share  in  his  pleasures,  could  never  be 
to  him  the  sympathetic  companion  that  young  and  active 
mothers  often  are  to  their  boys — and  a  lovely  sight  it  is! — 
still,  to  see  Arthur  with  his  little  old  mother,  as  careful  as 


16G 


KING  AKTHUR. 


a  girl,  as  devoted  as  a  lover,  as  tender  as  a  son — was  also  a 
sight  never  to  be  forgotten. 

Lady  Damerel  never  saw  it — nor  they  her.  Once,  when 
walking  in  the  park,  they  came  across  Sir  Charles’s 
wheeled  chair;  Arthur,  taking  off  his  hat,  stood  aside  to  let 
it  pass,  with  its  melancholy  occupant,  behind  whom  walked 
the  valet,  or  keeper,  always  his  sole  companion. 

It  is  no  use  speaking  to  Sir  Charles;  he  doesn’t  know 
anybody  now,”  said  the  servant  carelessly;  and  they  walked 
on.  But,  m  the  blank  white  face  of  the  old  man,  and  the 
strongly  marked  profile  of  the  young  one,  Susannah  saw 
again  that  unmistakable  likeness — fate’s  confirmatory  evi¬ 
dence  against  the  cruel  bar-sinister  which  the  world  would 
be  sure  to  impute  to  a  deserted  child.  And  though  to 
judge  a  man  by  this,  to  lay  to  his  charge  his  parents’  sin,  is 
wholly  unjust  and  unchristian;  still,  since  the  world  is 
neither  christianized  nor  just,  it  will  be  always  so. 

She  watched  her  boy  as  he  walked  on  beside  her,  with  a 
grave  fixed  look  on  his  face,  but  showing  no  other  emotion. 

‘‘  Sir  Charles  will  not  live  long,”  she  said,  “  and  nobody 
could  wish  it.” 

“  No;  but  I  am  glad  to  remember  he  was  always  kind  to 
me.” 

This  was  all.  Intercourse  between  Tawton  Abbas  and 
the  rectory  had  now  stopped  entirely.  The  rector  wished  it 
to  be  so.  Austin  Trevena  did  not  often  take  the  law  into 
his  own  hands.  His  own  instincts  bad  been  so  pure,  and 
his  life  so  blameless,  that  he  did  not  understand  sinners, 
and  was  apt  to  be  only  too  lenient  to  them.  But  in  this 
case  he  was  very  firm. 

The  church-door  is  open  to  any  one,”  he  said,  ‘‘  and  I 
can  not  refuse  her  the  sacrament,  for  I  know  nothing 
against  her  moral  character — but  there  it  ends.  I  hope, 
Susannah,  that  Lady  Damerel  will  never  darken  our  doors 
again.  ” 

She  did  not.  For  a  whole  year  no  trouble  entered  those 


KTKG  ARTHUH. 


167 


quiet  doors;  where  old  age  was  now  beginning  to  claim  its 
Sabbath  of  peace,  which  ought  to  be  so  welcome  and  so 
blessed.  For  what  energetic  action  is  to  youth,  so  is  mere 
reat  to  declining  years.  After  sixty — sometimes,  alas!  be¬ 
fore  then — we  learn  to  say,  ‘‘  There  is  no  joy  but  calm;'’"’ — 
and  to  be  thankful  for  it  if  we  get  it. 

So,  when  month  after  month  slid  by,  and  nothing  hap¬ 
pened,  nothing  broke  the  monotony  of  the  peaceful  house, 
hold,  except  Arthur^s  flying  visits,  and  his  constant,  com¬ 
forting  letters — Susannah’s  worn  face  gradually  recovered 
its  look  of  sweet  content,  justifying  her  boy  in  telling  her, 
as  he  did  sometimes,  that  she  was  the  prettiest  .old  lady 
that  ever  was  seen.’"’  Or  would  be,  one  day — for  he  refused 
to  allow  that  she  was  old  •”  yet;  and  often  proposed  the 
most  unheard-of  feats  for  her  in  the  way  of  picnics,  and 
other  expeditions  with  himself  and  Nanny.  At  which  she 
smilingly  shook  her  head,  and  sent  “  the  children  •”  away 
by  themselves. 

Arthur,  come  home  now  for  the  long  vacation,  seemed 
again  his  merry  boyish  self.  He  had  got  triumphantly 
through  his  ‘‘schools” — and  seemed  determined  to  enjoy 
himself.  He  went  singing  about  the  house  as  when  he  was 
ten  years  old;  though  now  just  past  one-and-twenty;  he 
walked,  he  fished,  he  bicycled;  he  “tramped”  the  parish 
for  the  rector,  and  visited  the  old  women  with  Nanny,  who 
was  also  at  home  for  her  holidays. 

Nanny  had  changed  very  little  within  the  last  few  years. 
She  was  still  the  same  plain  little  thing,  except  for  her 
great  dark  eyes,  and  her  exceedingly  sweet -toned  voice — a 
pleasant  voice  is  better  to  live  with  than  even  a  pretty  face. 
But  she  had  an  atmosphere  of  prettiness  about  her  too — ex¬ 
ceeding  neatness  of  dress,  and  grace  of  movement;  so  that, 
though  not  a  beauty,  she  could  never  be  called  decidedly 
ugly.  Some  day,  perhaps,  some  other  man — probably,  her 
aunt  thought,  an  elderly  man — might  find  in  her  the  same 
nameless  charm  that  Mr.  Hardy  had  done.  Poor  Mr. 


168 


KIUG  ARTllL'E. 


Hardy!  He  still  came  to  the  rectory  sometimes,  but  he 
never  said  a  word  more  to  Miss  Treveua.  Once,  wlien  talk¬ 
ing  to  Arthur  about  the  future  of  “  poor  little  Nanny,  ^  Hi  is 
mother  suggested  that  perhaps  she  might  be  an  old  maid 
after  all.  At  which  the  boy  laughed — which  Susannah 
thought  rather  unbrotherly  and  unkind — but  he  made  her 
no  answer  whatever. 

It  was  August,  and  he  had  been  two  weeks  at  borne; 
going  about  everywhere,  except  in  the  direction  of  Taw  ton 
Abbas.  It  was  emptied  of  guests,  at  Jast,  they  heard;  for 
Sir  Charles  was  slowly  dying.  Lady  Damerel  seldom  ap¬ 
peared  at  church  now;  but  one  day  a  stranger  gentleman 
was  seen  there,  in  the  Damerel  pew.  He  was  stout,  pomp¬ 
ous,  and  common-looking.  Eeport  said  he  was  the  heir, 
come  to  pay  a  duty  visit,  and  investigate  the  state  of  affairs; 
wliich  made  the  village  talk  him  over  rather  curiously,  and 
say  again — Poor  Lady  Damerel! 

But  nobody  ever  said  Poor  Mrs.  Treveua  I  There  was 
little  need.  Though  feeble  and  elderly  now,  she  looked  so 
content  and  at  rest — so  proud  even,  when  walking  into 
church  on  her  tall  soiiH  arm — that  no  one  would  ever  have 
thought  of  pitying  her.  Nor  did  she  pity  herself.  Her  life’s 
storms  seemed  to  have  sunk  into  peace.  Her  boy  knew 
everything  about  himself;  and  yet  was  satisfied  to  be  still 
her  boy.  Accounts  reached  her  on  all  sides  of  his  well¬ 
doing  at  Oxford;  where,  his  university  curriculum  being 
gone  through,  a  fellowship,  and  possibly  a  tutorship,  were 
almost  sure  to  follow:  one  of  the  many  proofs  that  a  boy 
with  a  fair  amount  of  brains,  and  the  determination  to  use 
them,  can  make  his  way  in  the  world  without  any  extrane¬ 
ous  help,  either  of  friends  or  fortune — if  he  so  choose. 

Where  there’s  a  will  there’s  a  way,”  Arthur  used  to  say, 
as  a  boy;  and  as  a  man  he  bade  fair  to  carry  out  his  creed. 

His  mother  thought  of  him  now  with  that  restfulness  of 
perfect  trust,  not  so  much  in  his  fortunes  as  in  himself — a 
safer  stronghold — wliich,  God  help  them!  not  all  mothers 


KING  ARTHUK. 


169 


have,  or  deserve  to  have.  But  He  had  given  her  that 
blessing,  and  she  was  thankful.  No  doubt,  Arthur  was 
not  quite  as  perfect  as  she  thought  him;  but  he  was  a  very 
good  fellow,  and  a  favorite  with  everybody—including  all 
the  young  ladies  of  the  neighborhood.  For  he  and  Nanny 
together  had  gradually  brought  young  life  about  the  rec¬ 
tory;  where  there  were  occasionally  garden-parties,  lawn- 
tennis  meetings,  and  such-like  mild  country  amusements. 
Susannah  shared  them,  and  was  amused  by  them;  some¬ 
times  speculating  upon  how  much  her  boy  was  admired, 
and  wondering  who  would  fall  in  love  with  him;  and  whom, 
in  some  far  future  day,  he  would  fall  in  love  with  himself, 
and  marry.  She  would  be  very  fond  of  his  wife,  she 
thought;  and  oh!  it  would  be  delightful  to  see  his  children. 

‘‘  Only  fancy!  me  a  grandmother!'’^  she  thought,  and 
laughed  to  herself  at  the  oddness  of  the  idea. 

She  was  sitting,  after  one  of  these  parties,  in  the  warm 
August  darkness,  lit  with  sturs,  and  fragrant  with  deli¬ 
cious  scents.  It  was  about  nine  o^clock;  Arthur  and  Nanny 
had  walked  a  little  way  down  the  road  with  their  friends, 
and  the  rector  was  in  his  study.  Susannah  sat  in  the  sum¬ 
mer-house,  all  alone.  But  she  did  not  mind  solitude;  she 
rather  enjoyed  it.  She  liked  to  sit  and  think — as  now;  for 
the  scent  of  clematis  and  jasmine  always  brought  back  the 
August  nights  of  her  youth- — when  Austin  came  back  from 
Oxford,  and  they  used  to  walk  in  his  father^’s  garden  to¬ 
gether  for  hours.  Then,  life  was  all  before  them;  now  it 
was  behind.  What  matter?  It  had  not  been  all  she  ex¬ 
pected;  a  ship  or  two  had  gone  down,  but  much  had  been 
saved — enough  to  make  the  old  scents  always  sweet  to  her, 
and  the  old  days  dear. 

She  was  looking  back  upon  them,  dreamily;  and  forward, 
into  the  days  to  come — not  so  many  now!  when  she  heard 
steq)3  upon  the  gravel,  and  there  passed  two  figures — a  man 
and  a  girl.  She  thought  at  first  it  was  her  house-maid, 
who  she  knew  had  a  “  lad  — for  the  man^s  arm  was  round 


170 


KING  ARTHUE. 


the  girFs  waist^  and  she  was  sobbing  on  his  shoulder;  which 
kept  Mrs.  Trevena  from  speaking  to  them.  Shortly  they 
passed  again,  and  then,  to  her  utter  bewilderment,  she  saw 
it  was  Arthur  and  Nanny — whom  she  still  sometimes  called 
— “  the  children.,'’^ 

She  was  so  accustomed  to  think  of  them  as  such,  that  at 
first  her  only  feeling  was  a  slight  vexation  that  Nanny 
should  be  bothering  Arthur  with  her  troubles.  She 
had  heard  him  say,  ‘‘  Don^t  cry,  poor  little  Nanny — ifiease 
don^t.^^  But  Nanny  was  a  little  too  old  to  be  soothed  and 
caressed  like  a  baby,  and  should  be  careful  as  to  how  such 
caresses  looked  outside — Arthur  not  being  her  real  brother. 
As  to  anything  else,  Mrs.  Trevena  dismissed  the  idea  as 
simply  ridiculous.  Her  Arthur — such  a  fine  young  fellow, 
everybody-^’s  favorite;  and  Nanny — such  an  ordinary  creat¬ 
ure — whom  he  had  played  with,  petted,  tyrannized  over  all 
his  life — for  them  to  be  anything  but  brother  and  sister  was 
perfect  nonsense!  She  would  not  speak  to  Arthur,  or  put 
such  a  notion  into  his  head;  but  she  would  speak  to 
Nanny,  who  was  a  sensible  girl,  and  would  understand.  ‘ 

Howevei’,  when  she  went  in-doors,  she  found  Nanny  had 
gone  to  bed;  very  tired,^^  Arthur  explained;  and  that  he 
himself,  after  supper  and  prayers,  was  evidently  waiting  for 
a  talk  with  his  mother — as  he.  often  did  of  Saturday  nights 
when  the  rector  was  busy  over  his  sermon. 

“  I  have  rather  a  serious  word  or  two  to  say  to  you, 
mother  darling,^ ^  he  whispered,  as  he  took  her  hand  and 
sat  down  beside  her. 

‘‘Not  very  serious, smiled  she — for  his  eyes  were  shin¬ 
ing  and  his  manner  cheerful  and  happy,  though  a  trifle 
nervous.  At  which  she  hardly  wondered,  when  he  came 
out  suddenly  with  a  startling  idea. 

“  Mother,  I  want  to  leave  you  for  a  little.  I  am  think¬ 
ing  of  going  to  Switzerland — to  Andermatt.’’^ 

“  To  Andermatt?  Why?  Oh,  rny  boy,  what  good  would 
it  do?’^ 


KTKG  ARTHUR. 


171 


Arthur  soothed  her  momentary  distress — ^he  had  unlimited 
power  of  soothing  his  mother;  and  then  told  her  that  in 
consequence  of  a  letter  from  his  godfather,  ‘‘  and  for  other 
reasons/’  he  had  lately  thought  it  advisable  to  tell  his  whole 
history  to  a  friend  he  had,  the  son  of  an  eminent  Lon¬ 
don  barrister — who  had  taken  connsel’s  opinion.  This  was, 
that  if  he  ever  meant  to  claim  the  estate  and  the  baronetcy, 
he  ought  immediately  to  take  steps  to  obtain  what  is  called 
‘‘  perpetuation  of  testimony,”  that  is,  the  affidavits  of  all 
those  witnesses  who  could  prove  his  birth  and  his  identity; 
which  evidence  could  belaid  up,  and  'would  be  sufficient,  in 
case  of  the  death  of  any  of  them  before  the  time  came  for 
the  heir  to  assert  his  rights. 

I  will  never  do  this  in  Sir  Charles’s  life-time;  but  after¬ 
ward,  I  may,  if  I  can  afford  the  money.  One’s  birthright 
is  one’s  birthright,  and  worth  fighting  for.  Ko  man  could 
be  expected  not  to  fight,  if  he  has  the  right  on  his  side, 
both  for  his  o'vvn  sake  and  those  belonging  to  him.  ” 

“  But  that  is  only  papa  and  me;  and  we  would  rather 
keep  you  as  our  son  than  have  you  the  heir  of  all  the  Dame- 
rels.  ” 

No  sooner  had  she  said  this  than  she  felt  how  selfish  it 
was,  and  how  natural,  how  right,  that  Arthur  should  feel 
as  he  did,  and  should  have  done  what  he  had  done — as  any 
young  man  would  have  done — though  it  hurt  her  a  little 
that  he  had  done  it  without  consulting  her.  But  he  was  so 
tender,  so  thoughtful,  and  withal  so  prudent,  that  the  feel¬ 
ing  soon  passed.  If  her  son  did  what  was  right  and  wise, 
it  mattered  little  whether  Ke  did  it  with  her  or  without 
her. 

So  they  went  into  the  details  of  his  proposed  journey  with 
their  usual  mutual  confidence.  He  had  saved  enough  to 
defray  all  expenses,  he  thought,  if  he  traveled  very  econom¬ 
ically;  and  when  she  offered- him  money,  he  refused  it.  He 
preferred  being  on  his  owni  hook.” 

“  You  see,  I  am  ngt  doing  badly,  mother,  for  a  fellow  of 


172 


KING  ARTHUR. 


twenty-one.  It’s  odd — but  I  am  really  twenfc3^-one  now.  I 
could  be  sued  for  my  own  debts — or  for  breach  of  promise, 
if  I  had  asked  any  one  to  marry  me.” 

He  said  this  with  a  laugh  and  a  blush — but  also  with  an 
anxious  look  out  of  the  corners  of  his  bright  honest  eyes. 
His  mother  laughed  too,  in  unsuspicious  content. 

‘‘All  in  good  time,  my  dear.  I  hope  3"ou  will  many 
some  day,  when  you  find  anybody  you  care  for — which  you 
have  not  found  yet,  you  know.” 

Arthur  looked  grave  and  answered,  very  gently,  “  I  am 
not  sure.  ” 

A  sudden  wild  apprehension  flitted  across  the  mother’s 
mind.  Could  her  boy  have  fallen  in  love?  The  girls  of 
the  neighborhood— she  counted  them  over  swift  as  thought. 
Not  one  seemed  j^^ssible,  probable,  or  desirable. 
“Arthur?”  she  cried,  in  an  almost  agonized  question. 

Arthur  hung  his  head  a  little.  “  Yes,  mother,  it’s  quite 
true.  I  did  really  ask  her — this  evening.  I  think  I  must 
have  loved  her  all  my  life — though  I  didn’t  find  it  out  till 
Mr.  Hardy  wanted  her,  and  couldn’t  get  her.  ” 

“  Nanny!  OJi,  Arthur,  it  isn’t  surely  Nanny!  Impossi¬ 
ble!” 

“  Why  iriipossible?”  said  Arthur,  drawing  herself  up. 

“  Such  a — ”  “  such  a  plain  little  thing,”  the  mother  was 
going  to  say,  but  stopped  herself — “  a  dilferent  kind  of 
person  from  you.  And  she  has  been  your  cousin — almost 
your  sister — ever  since  you  were  children  together.” 

“But  she  is  not  my  cousin,  and  not  my  sister,  and  I 
don’t  want  her  as  either.  iVant  her  for  my  wife.” 

The  young  man — he  was  a  man  now — spoke  firmly  the 
strange  new  word.  It  went  through  his  mother  like  a 
shaft  of  steel — ^yet  she  had  the  sense  not  to  show  it. 

“  You  asked  Nanny,  you  say,  this  evening?  And  she 
answered — ” 

“  She  would  not  give  me  anv  answer  at  all  till  I  had  told 
you — and  her  uncle.  But  I  think,  indeed  I  know — ”  And 


KIKG  ARTHUB. 


m 


Artliur  lifted  his  head  prouder  than  ever — with  the  honest 
pride  of  a  young  man  who  knows  that  the  girl  he  loves  loves 
him.  ‘‘She  is  such  a  good  girl/’’ he  added.  “  IN’obody 
in  the  world  could  ever  say  a  word  against  my  little 
Nanny. 

“  Ml/  ’’  little  Nanny!  the  sense  of  possession — ^the  pas¬ 
sionate  protection  of  his  own  against  all  the  world  —  it 
touched  the  mother  in  spite  of  herself.  So  many  lovers  are 
such  cowards — so  ardent  to  seize;,  so  feeble  to  defend.  Here 
was  the  true  chivalric  lover,  who,  it  was  clear,  meant  to 
hold  to  his  “  little  Nanny  through  thick  and  thin. 

What  could  Susannah  say?  It  was  the  very  kind  of  love 
she  most  admired — the  ideal  of  faithful  tenderness  which 
she  herself  had  taught  him;  though  it  broke  her  heart  she 
could  not  but  respect  it.  And  yet — and  yet — 

Arthur  saw  her  evident  distress,  but  did  not  attempt  to 
console  her.  There  is  a  time — God  forgive  them,  poor 
lambs! — when  all  young  people  think  of  themselves  only. 
Happy  for  them  if  their  elders  have  self-control  enough  to 
recognize  this — to  remember  the  time  when  they  also  went 
through  the  same  phase  of  passionate  egotism — or  dual 
egotism.  It  can  not  last  long.  If  lovers  are  proverbiallv 
selfish,  except  to  the  object  beloved,  husbands  and  wives, 
fathers  and  mothers,  must  inevitably  soon  learn  that  self- 
abnegation  which  is  the  very  soul  of  marriage  and  parent¬ 
hood,  which  often  makes  even  the  most  thoughtless  boy  or 
girl  into  a  noble  man  and  woman. 

There  is  much  to  be  said  for  and  against  what  the  world¬ 
ly-minded  call  “  calf-love.'’^  ft  may  not  always  endure — 
perhaps  best  not — for  a  man^s  last  love  is  sometimes  deeper 
than  his  first.  But  sometimes  it  does  endure;  and  then  it 
is  the  strongest  thing  in  life;  I  have  known  people  who 
loved  one  another  in  their  teens,  and  loved  on  for  sixty 
years. 

By  a  sort  of  inspiration,  Susannah  ^s  mind  leaped  at  tins 
truth,  or  at  least  this  possibility;  and  it  strengthened  her  to 


174 


KIKG  AETTIUR. 


bear  wliat  to  no  mother  can  be  a  joy,  and  may  be  a  i^harp 
pang — the  discovery  that  she  has  ceased  to  be  her  child 
first  object — that  anotliet,  perhaps  a  total  stranger,  has 
suddenly  become  far  closer,  far  dearer,  far  more  important 
than  she. 

Restraining  a  sob,  and  compelling  herself  into  something 
like  a  smile,  Mrs.  Ti'evena  held  out  both  her  hands  to  her 
boy.  He  seized  them,  and,  flinging  himself  on  his  knees 
before  her,  put  both  his  arms  round  her  waist  and  kissed 
her  again  and  again. 

“  My  good  mother^ — my  kind  mother!^ ^  was  all  he  could 
say,  almost  with  a  sob. 

She  stroked  his  hair,  and  patted  his  shoulder. 

“  You  silly  boy — such  a  mere  boy  still!  And  she  such  a 
baby — little  Nanny,  whom  you  have  known  all  your  life.'’' 

“It  is  because  I  have  known  her  all  my  life — because  I 
am  quite  sure  of  her,  that  I  love  her  so.  She  would  never 
despise  me.  She  is  willing  to  marry  a  man  without  a  name 
— and  therefore  for  her  sake  I  will  try  to  get  one.  I’ll  do> 
nothing  just  yet — as  I  told  you;  I  will  stand  on  my  own  feet: 
and  make  myself  respected  as  I  am.  But,  by  and  by,  I 
will  move  heaven  and  earth  to  obtain  my  own.  For 
Nanny’s  sake — for  Nanny’s  sake!  And,  if  I  fail,  I  shall 
still  have  her — and  you.” 

“  Her  ”  first — “  you  ”  afterward.  Well!  it  was  right — 
it  was  natural;  the  law  of  nature  and  of  God.  Arthur  was 
unconscious  of  having  said  it— nor  did  his  mother  betray 
that  she  had^heard  it.  It  was  the  final  love-sacrifice  which 
all  mothers  must  make:  if  the  smoke  of  it  ascends  to 
heaven,  God  accepts  it,  and  that  is  enough. 

“  You  are  not  vexed — not  angry  with  me,  mother  dar¬ 
ling?”  said  Arthur,  anxiously. 

“  How  could  I  be?  You  are  a  couple  of  little  geese — 
that  is  all.  And  you  will  probably  have  to  wait  for  years 
and  years.  ” 

“  Never  mind,”  laughed  Arthur,  now  quite  happy— 


KIKG  AJiTHLK. 


175 


actually  radiant  in  his  happiness — so  handsome,  so  graceful, 
that  more  than  ever  it  was  an  actual  amazement  to  her 
how  he,  her  King  Arthur,  the  cynosure  of  all  eyes — the 
sort  of  preux  chevalier  whom  most  girls  fall  in  love  with— 
he,  who  might  have  chosen  anybody,  should  have  gone  and 
chosen  Kanny — poor  little  Nanny! 

“  You  will  speak  to  herP^  pleaded  he.  She  is  gone  to 
bed,  but  she  is  not  asleep,  I  am  sure.  You  will  not  wait 
till  morning — you^ll  go  now,  mother?^^ 

“  Certainly.'’^  And  Mrs.  Trevena  rose,  steadying  her¬ 
self  by  the  back  of  her  chair — and  feeling  blindly  for  the 
door  handle.  Then  she  turned:  ‘‘  I  think,  dear,  wedlnot 
tell  papa  of  this  Just  yet — not  till  after  Sunday."’^ 

When  they  did  tell  him  Mr.  Trevena’ was,  as  his  wife 
had  foreboded,  a  little  vexed.  He  took  the  masculine  and 
worldly  view  of  the  subject,  and  did  not  like  being  dis¬ 
turbed  out  of  the  even  tenor  of  his  way  by  any  such  youth¬ 
ful  nonsense. 

‘  ‘  Foolish  children  I — they  have  not  a  halfpenny  between 
them, said  he.  ‘‘And  the  idea  that  at  their  age  they 
should  know  their  own  minds — it^s  ridiculous 

“We  did,^""  said  Susannah,  softly.  And  she  may  surely 
be  forgiven  if,  looking  at  the  Austin  Trevena  of  to-day, 
she  remembered  the  Austin  Trevena  of  forty  years  ago, 
and  thought  perhaps  it  might  have  been  better  for  both 
had  he  too  been  “  young  and  foolish  — if  they  had  trusted 
themselves  and  Providence;  married  as  early  as  prudence 
would  allow,  spent  the  flower  of  their  days  together,  not 
apart;  fought  through  their  cares  and  enjoyed  their  bless¬ 
ings;  and  lived  to  “  see  their  children'’ s  children  and  peace 
upon  Israel.'’^  Such  might  be  the  lot  of  Arthur  and  Nanny 
— and,  remembering  her  own  lot,  she  was  glad  of  it. 

“  Husband,^*  she  said,  and  put  her  arm  on  his  shoulder 
with  the  love  that  had  never  failed  him  all  his  life — never 
would  fail  him  till  death — “  we  did'  not  make  this  marriage 
—it  made  itself,  or  God  made  it — who  knows?  DonT  you 


176 


KIKG  ARTHUR. 


think  we  had  better  leave  things  alone,  and  let  the  young 
people  settle  their  own  affairs?’^ 

A  sentiment  which  coincided  so  much  with  the  rector’s 
dreamy,  lazy  ways  that  possibly  he  was  glad  in  his  heart  to 
leave  things  alone.  He  told  his  niece  “  she  could  do  as  she 
liked,”  and  Arthur,  too;  went  back  to  his  books  and  forgot 
all  about  it.  In  his  gentle  undemonstrative  way  Austin 
was  the  tenderest  of  husbands — the  kindest  of  men;  but 
with  him,  as  was  not  unnatural,  the  days  of  romance  were 
all  over  and  done. 

Were  they  with  Susannah?  are  they  ever  with  any  real 
woman  who  recognizes  that  love  is  the  heart  of  life;  and, 
for  either  man  or  woman,  its  utmost  salvation,  its  most 
perfect  joy? 

Arthur  had  only  a  few  days  at  home  before  he  started 
for  Andermatt  with  his  friend,  who  was  also  a  lawyer,  and 
capable  of  transacting  the  necessary  legal  business.  The 
boy  arranged  all  with  the  cleverness,  shrewdness,  and  firm¬ 
ness  of  a  man.  Between  whiles  he  went  about,  also  like  a 
man,  with  the  girl  he  had  chosen;  beamingly  happy,  and 
not  a  bit  shy  or  ashamed.  His  mother  watched  him  with 
a  full  heart — she  also  had  been  in  Arcadia.  ” 

But  it  was  a  sore  heart,  too.  She  had  always  liked 
Hanny,  and  been  very  kind  to  her;  but  kindness  and  liking 
are  not  necessarily  love.  People  of  wide  sympathies  and 
active  benevolence  are  often  misconceived,  and  supposed  to 
love  everybody.  They  do  not.  They  feel  kindly  to  every¬ 
body,  but  they  only  love  one  or  two  people  in  the  whole 
course  of  their  lives.  It  is  like  a  man  putting  all  his 
money  in  one  bank;  if  the  bank  breaks — and  it  does  break 
sometimes — God  help  him!  He  may  carry  on  business 
very  successfully  outside,  but  at  heart  he  is  bankrupt  all 
his  days.  ^ 

One  of  these  rare  loves — strong  as  rare — in  Mrs.  Tre- 
vena’s  life,  had  been  the  maternal  passion  for  her  adopted 
son.  His  going  to  school  and  college  had  made  him  less  a 


KIKa  ARTHUK. 


177 


part  of  her  daily  existence  than  if  he  had  been  a  girl;  but 
his  falling  in  love  was  a  greater  blow  to  her  than  any 
daughter's  would  have  been.  In  spite  of  the  cruel  jocu¬ 
larities  against  mothers-in-law,  many  a  woman  inclines 
tenderly  to  the  man  her  daughter  marries;  often  loving 
him  like  her  own  son.  For  her  daughter’s  her  daughter 
all  her  life  ” — and  she  gains  a  son  besides.  But  when  her 
son  marries  she  loses  him  in  degree,  and  sometimes  does 
not  gain  a  daughter. 

Watching  Nanny,  and  wondering  more  and  more  how 
Arthur  ever  came  to  choose  her — yet  plain  little  women 
have  ruled  paramount,  and  for  life,  in  the  hearts  of  clever 
and  handsome  men — Susannah  sometimes  felt  as  if  she 
could  never  love  the  girl;  and  then  again  as  if  she  must 
love  her,  because  Arthur  did.  It  was  a  desperate  struggle 
— a  small  tragedy  in  a  tea-pot  ” — but  none  the  less  a 
tragedy;  and  all  the  more  pathetic  that  it  went  on  in  the 
silent  heart  of  an  old  woman,  in  whom  age,  which  deadens 
most  things,  had  never  yet  deadened  the  power  of  loving 
and  of  suffering. 

But  it  could  not  last — it  ought  not  to  last.  Best  to  bury 
it — and  let  all  the  sweet  charities  of  life  grow  up  round  it, 
like  grass  and  flowers  round  a  stone. 

The  household  at  the  rectory  soon  found  out  the  truth  of 
things;  so  did  the  village,  and  came  with  its  innocent  con¬ 
gratulations  to  Mr.  Arthur  and  Miss  Nanny.  Mr.  Hardy 
came,  too — sad,  but  resigned — saying  with  comical  pathos, 
“It’s  not  lost  that  a  friend  gets.”  By  and  by  all  the 
neighborhood  brought  good  wishes,  too,  except  Tawton 
Abbas,  where  Sir  Charles  still  lay  in  that  lingering  death 
in  life  which  might  last  for  months  or  years. 

Susannah  herself  expected  little  result  from  Arthur’s 
journey  to  Andermatt;  but  she  thought  it  right  he  should 
go;  and  his  godfather,  who  expected  to  be  in  England 
shortly,  wrote,  insisting  on  the  same.  Nanny  said  nothing 
' — all  she  cared  for  was  Arthur  himself.  Her  absorbing 


178 


Rlls^G  ARTHUR. 


and  exclusive  devotion  to  him,  which  had  evidently  existed 
hojoeless  for  years,  touched  his  mother^s  heart  more  than 
anything  else;  and  made  a  little  easier  that  salutary  hut 
rather  melancholy  performance  of  playing  second  fiddle, 
which  all  parents  must  learn,  soon  or  late.  It  is  the  law  of 
nature — and  therefore  the  law  of  God. 

Mr.  Trevena  was  the  only  person  in  the  household  who 
dwelt  much  on  the  worldly  phase  of  the  matter;  thought  it 
l^ossible  that  Arthur  might  one  day  be  Sir  Arthur  Damerel, 
and  suggested  that  the  last  of  the  Trevenas  would  prove  a 
not  unsuitable  Lady  Damerel. 

‘  ‘  And  then,  my  dear,  you  and  I  must  make  up  our 
minds  to  spend  our  old  age  together.  The  common  lot! 
When  the  young  birds  are  flown  we  must  snuggle  down  in 
the  empty  nest.  I  dare  say  we  shall  bear  it. 

Oh,  yes — we  shall  bear  it,^^  smiled  Susannah,  as  she 
kissed  him  tenderly — the  one  man  she  had  loved  all  her 
life  through.  She  knew  all  his  weaknesses — all  his  faults, 
as  he  knew  hers;  still  he  was  himself,  and  she  was  herself 
— nothing  could  divide  them  but  death.  There  is  a  sen¬ 
tence — if  to  quote  it  be  not  profane — and  yet  how  can  it  be 
so,  to  those  who  try  in  all  things  to  imitate  tlie  Divine  Mas¬ 
ter?  ‘‘  Having  loved  his  own,  he  loved  them  unto  the 
end.^^  And  in  all  true  loves  we  do  love — we  can  not  choose 
but  love^ — unto  the  end. 

Arthur  wrote  from  Andermatt  that  he  had  “  found  all 
he  hoped  for,  and  done  all  he’  wanted  to  do.^^  Nothing 
more.  Explanations  could  wait.  He  and  his  companion 
meant  to  “  have  their  fling,  for  a  week  or  two;  it  might 
be  many  years  before  he  could  afford  more  foreign  travel¬ 
ing,  and  then  he  would  come  home.  Home  to  the  bright¬ 
est  and  best  bit  of  a  young  man^s  life,  or  a  girEs  either — 
when  their  lot  is  all  settled,  their  love  openly  acknowledged ; 
and  they  start,  a  betrothed  pair,  with  everybody’s  good 
wishes,  to  begin  the  journey  of  life  together. 

“  My  dear,”  said  Mrs.  Trevena  to  Nanny,  as  they  sat  at 


KING  ARTHUR.  179^ 

tlieir  sewing,  though  the  younger  did  it  chiefly  now,  for  Su- 
sannah^’s  eyes  were  fast  failing  her — My  dear,  what  day 
is  Arthur  coming  home?^^  It  was  a  new  thing,  a  rather 
sore  thing,  for  the  mother  to  have  to  ask  anybody  else 
“  when  Arthur  was  coming  home?^^  but  the  reward,  to  a 
generous  heart,  was  Nanny ^s  bright  up-look,  and  happy 
blush. 

‘‘  I  think,  aunt,  he  will  be  here  the  day  after  to-morrow. 
But  I  told  him  he  was  not  to  come  till  he  had  done  all  he 
wanted  to  do,  and  seen  everything  he  wanted  to  see.-’^ 

This  proud  maidenly  possession  of  a  man,  not  to  queen  it 
over  him  in  selfish  vanity,  but  to  use  her  influence  nobly, 
for  his  good  and  hers — it  was  a  pretty  thing  to  see;  and  it 
comforted  the  mother^s  heart.  She  knew  well  that  a  many’s 
whole  future  often  depends  upon  the  sort  of  girl  he  falls  in 
love  with  in  his  first  youth. 

I  agree  with  you,  my-  dear;  still,  if  you  write  again, 
tell  him  I  think  he  should  come  home  at  once.  His  god¬ 
father  is  in  England,  and  will  be  here  to-day.  You  re¬ 
member  Doctor  Franklin 

‘‘Oh,  yes.  There  was  nothing  connected  with  Arthur 
which  Nanny  did  not  remember.  Hers  was  the  most  en¬ 
tire,  absorbing  devotion,  reasonable,  not- blind  devotion, 
that  any  girl  could  give ;  and  day  by  day  ih  was  reconciling 
Arthur’s  mother  to  things  as  they  were — even  though  they 
were  wholly  contrary  to  what  she  had  expected  or  desired. 
She  could  not  withstand  the  pathetic  appeal  of  Nanny’s 
dark  eyes — like  that  of  Helena  to  the  countess,  in  “  All’s 
Well  that  Ends  Well.  ” 

“  Let  not  your  hate  encounter  with  my  love 
For  loving  where  you  do.” 

Also,  another  thing  reconciled  her — a  thing  hard  to  learn, 
but  when  learned,  bringing  with  it  a  solemn  peace.  Dearly 
as  she  loved  her  own,  she  felt  she  could  take  care  of  them 
no  more.  As  she  watched  Nanny  flitting  about  like  a  little 


180 


KIKG  ARTHUE. 


brown  bird,  carrying  out  ber  orders,  suggesting  tilings  sbe 
bad  forgotten,  and  doing  everything  sbe  was  unable  to  do, 
tbe  wife  and  mother  learned  to  say  to  herself,  ‘‘  So  be  it! 

When  Dr.  Franklin  arrived  she  made  Nanny  explain  to 
him  the  position  of  Arthur^s  business  affairs;  which  the 
girl  did  so  clearly  and  well  that  the  old  man — ^lie  was  quite 
an  old  man  now — patted  her  on  the  shoulder  approvingly. 

My  godson  has  fallen  on  his  feet,  whether  he  ever  is 
Sir  Arthur  or  not.  When  you  write,  tell  him  I  say  so.'’^ 

But  fortunately  there  was  no  need  of  writing.  Next  day 
Arthur  came  home,  and  Dr.  Franklin^s  evidence,  conclu¬ 
sive  as  to  identity,  and  including  Lady  DamereFs  own  ad¬ 
mission  that  the  child  was  hers  and  her  husband^s,  was  for¬ 
mally  taken. 

“  Depend  upon  it,  if  she  finds  out  I^m  here,  shefil  shake 
in  her  shoes, said  the  Kentuckian,  laughing  his  silent 
laugh.  And  truly,  when  the  same  evening,  the  Tawton 
Abbas  carriage  passed  him,  as  he  stood  leaning  on  the  rec¬ 
tory  gate,  the  face  that  looked  out  from  it  turned  deadly 
pale.  But  Lady  Damerel  made  no  sign  of  recognition.  On 
both  sides  there  seemed  an  armed  truce,  to  last  as  long  as 
fate  w'ould  permit — which  could  not  be  very  long  after  all. 

Nor  was  it.  Two  days  after,  when  the  young  people, 
shy  but  proud,  and  unspeakably  happy,  had  slipped  away 
for  their  daily  walk  togethei*,  leaving  Dr.  Franklin  and 
Mrs.  Trevena  sitting  in  the  garden,  and  the  rector  in  his 
study — there  came  a  message  from  Tawton  Abbas.  The 
church-bell  suddenly  began  to  toll,  as  it  had  tolled  for  cen¬ 
turies  on  the  death  of  any  Damerel — once  every  minute  for 
every  year  of  age.  They  counted  seventy-three  strokes.  It 
was  Sir  Charles  Damerel  then  who  had  gone  to  his  rest. 

All  met  on  the  doorsteps  of  the  rectory,  listening.  Arthur 
removed  his  hat,  and  stood  bareheaded,  with  a  grave,  com¬ 
posed  air,  till  the  bell  ceased — then,  taking  Nanny^s  hand, 
led  the  way  in-doors.  They  all  followed,  for  they  knew  tlie 
crisis  was  come. 


KIKG  ARTHUR. 


181 


A  long  consultation  followed.  Le  roi  est  mort;  vivele 
roi  /”  There  could  be  no  doubt  that  the  heir-presumptive 
would  immediately  claim  his  rights,  and  that  the  heir-ap¬ 
parent  must  claim  his,  or  else  forever  hold  his  peace. 

There  were  two  ways  of  procedure :  one  was  that,  sup¬ 
posing  the  remote  cousin  appeared  at  the  funeral,  having 
already  taken  possession^  to  bring  an  action  of  ejectment 
against  him  in  behalf  of  the  direct  heir;  the  second,  involv¬ 
ing  greater  difficulties,  was,  that  Arthur  should  take  pos¬ 
session  of  Tawton  Abbas,  and  leave  his  opponent  to  bring 
the  action  of  ejectment.  But  this  could  not  be  done  with¬ 
out  the  consent  and  assistance  of  Lady  Damerel,  which 
would  be  equivalent  to  a  public  acknowledgment  of  her  son. 

It  was  decided  to  adopt  the  former  course.  If  I  have 
to  fight — fight  I  will,'’'’  said  Arthur,  with  a  quiet  resolution 
that  surprised  everybody.  But  I  will  not  do  it  untender- 
ly.  She  shall  not  be  troubled  in  any  way  till  after  the 
funeral. 

This  was  fixed  for  an  earlier  day  than  the  village  expect¬ 
ed.  Usually  the  Damerels  had  the  special  honor  of  re¬ 
maining  above  ground  for  a  week  or  more,  before  being 
left  to  sleep  with  their  fathers  under  Tawton  Church.  That 
poor  Sir  Charles  should  be  buried  on  the  third  day,  looked 
far  too  unceremonious — almost  as  if  his  widow  were  glad  to 
get  rid  of  him.  And  when  it  was  noised'  abroad  that  the 
heir  was  “  somewhere  on  the  continent,^'’  taking  one  of  his 
numerous  sons  to  school  in  Germany,  and  that  consequent¬ 
ly  Lady  Damerel  would  be  the  only  chief  mourner,  every¬ 
body  was  still  more  astonished. 

Except  Dr.  Franklin.  ‘‘  That  woman '’s  a  shrewd  one,^'’ 
he  said.  “  She  knows  on  which  side  her  bread^s  buttered. 
I  shouldnT  wonder — 

And  there  he  stopped.  Nobody  talked  very  much  at  the 
rectory,  except  on  commonplace,  extraneous  subjects  dur¬ 
ing  those  three  anxious  days. 

The  funeral  day  was  a  cheerless  one,  such  as  comes  some- 


182 


KIKG  ARTHUR. 


time  in  September;  a  settled  downpour,  wlien  it  appears  as 
if  the  weather  has  broken,  and  the  summer  is  gone. 
Nevertheless  half  the  neighborhood  assembled  in  the  chilly 
church — so  damp  and  cold  that  Nanny  entreated  her  aunt 
not  to  attempt  to  go;  and  carriage  after  carriage  rolled  past 
the  rectory  gate  on  its  way  to  pay  respect  to  the  last  of  the 
Damerels.  It  was  to  be  a  very  fine  funeral,  everybody 
agreed;  Lady  Damerel  having  spared  no  expense  to  make 
her  sorrow  for  her  husband  as  public  as  possible. 

The  long  procession  had  been  already  seen  wending  along 
the  park,'  and  the  rector  was  puttmg  on  his  canonicals, 
when  Arthur  came  into  the  study,  dressed  in  complete 
mourning. 

My  boy?^^  said  Mrs.  Trevena  questioningly.  She  only 
questioned  now — she  never  controlled:  he  had  a  right  to 
judge  and  act  for  himself;  and  she  knew  he  would  do  both 
rightly. 

He  stooped  and  kissed  her  tenderly.  You  do  not  ob¬ 
ject?  I  am  going  to  my  father’s  funeral.”  It  was  the  first 
time  he  had  ever  used  the  word:  he*  said  it  now  with  a 
lingering  pathos,  as  we  speak  of  something  wholly  lost— 
the  loss  of  which  teaches  us  what  it  might  have  been.  “  I 
ought  to  go,  I  think.  He  was  a  good  man.  There  is  one 
thing  I  shall  find  it  hard  to  forgive;  that  I  was  prevented 
— she  prevented  me — from  ever  knowing  my  father.  ” 

But  that  gained  you  a  mother,  young  fellow!”  said 
Dr.  Franklin  sharply.  “  You’ve  won  much  more  than 
you  lost.” 

I  know  it,”  said  Arthur  earnestly.  And  if  all  fails, 
I  shall  come  home  here,  and  then  go  to  Oxford  and  earn 
my  honest  bread,  with  Nanny  beside  me.  ”  It  w^as  Nanny’s 
hand  he  took — Nanny’s  eyes  he  looked  into  when  he  spoke. 
Then,  as  wich  a  sudden  though,  he  added — “  But  I  shall 
be  my  mother’s  son  all  my  days.  ” 

Again  he  kissed  her,  and  his  mother  kissed  him  back 


K^G  AliTHL'iR. 


183 


again;  nor  hindered  him.;,  nor  grieved  him,  by  a  single  look 
or  word. 

They  all  w^ent  to  the  church  together,  for  Mrs.  Trevena 
refused  to  be  left  behind.  Arthur  did  not  enter  the  rectory 
pew  with  the  rest,  but  stood  at  the  entrance,  waiting  till 
the  body  was  borne  in  to  those  solemn  sentences  which  all 
of  us  know  sadly  well,  beginning — Man  that  is  born  of 
a  woman. 

After  it  walked  Lady  Damerel,  in  her  widow^s  weeds; 
erect  and  steady,  but  alone— in  that  utmost  heart-loneli¬ 
ness  which  a  woman,  if  she  has  a  heart  at  all,  can  feel, 
when  husband  and  children  have  gone  to  the  grave  before 
her,  and  she  only  is  left,  to  a  desolate  old  age.  As  she 
passed  him,  she  looked  up  and  saw  Arthur.  He  did  not 
look  at  her — his  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  coffin:  but  at 
some  slight  gesture  she  made  he  stepped  forward — as  he 
might  have  intended  to  do  in  any  case — and  took  his  place 
beside  her. 

The  service  continued.  The  body  was  lowered  into  the 
vault — the  solemn  spadeful  of  ‘‘earth  to  earth  rattled 
down — heard. distinctly  through  the  dark,  chilly  church; — 
there  was  the  final  pause — the  last  gaze  into  that  gloomy 
cave  of  death — and  Lady  Damerel  turned  to  go. 

“  She^s  fainting,^  ^  Arthur  heard  somebody  whisper. 
AVhether  she  took  the  help,  or  he  offered  it,  he  never  knew; 
but  her  hand  was  upon  his  arm,  and  leaning  heavily, 
almost  staggering  sometimes,  she  passed  through  the  re¬ 
spectful  if  not  very  sympathetic  crowd,  to  the  church  door. 
There,  almost  in  her  path,  stood  the  gaunt  figure  of  the 
'Kentucky  doctor;  who  knew — had  known — everything. 

Perhaps  the  woman  felt  that  all  was  over,  and  deter¬ 
mined  to  do  with  a  good  grace  what  she  would  soon  be  com¬ 
pelled  to  do;  which  after  all  might  be  the  best  and  most 
prudent  thing  for  her  to  do.  Or — may  be— let  us  give  her 
the  benefit  of  the  doubt — even  thus  late,  nature  was  tug¬ 
ging  at  her  heart.  When  Arthur  had  put  her  into  the 


184 


KIN-G  AETHUR. 


carriage,  and  was  lifting  liis  hat  with  a  formal  farewell 
bow,  she  leaned  forward  and  seized  his  hand: 

“  Come  home  with  me!  You  must — it  is  necessary.  I 
will  confess; — you  shall  claim  your  rights — everything  will 
be  yours, 

The  boy  hesitated  a  moment — he  was  a  man  and  yet  a 
hoy;  he  turned  very  pale,  and  looked  round — was  it  for  his 
real  mother,  who  was  not  the  woman  that  bore  him?  But 
Dr.  Frankhn  behind  said  imperatively  Go!^^ — and  he 
went. 

What  the  two  said  to  one  another  when  shut  up  in  the 
carriage  together,  or  what  revelations  were  made  that 
afternoon,  when  Dr.  Franklin,  having  been  sent  for  by  the 
family  lawyer,  who  of  course  had  come  for  the  funeral, 
went  up  to  Tawton  Abbas,  was  never  clearly  explained,  hut 
before  night-fall  the  news  had  run  like  wild-fire  through  the 
village  that  Arthur  Trevena,  the  rector^s  adopted  son,  had 
been  suddenly  discovered  to  he  Sir  Arthur  Damerel,  Sir 
Charleses  lawful  heir.  Of  course  a  large  amount  of  fiction 
was  mingled  with  fact.  The  presumptive  heir — ^the  second 
cousin  once  removed — arrived  post-haste  next  day — just  too 
late  for  the  hasty  funeral — (she  was  a  clever  womau.  Lady 
Damerel!)' — and  it  was  said  he  intended  to  fight  it  out  by 
law.  However,  either  he  became  convinced  that  litigation 
was  hopeless;  or  had  no  money  to  waste  among  lawyers;  he 
swallowed  his  disappointment  and  stayed  on  placidly  at 
Tawton  Abbas.  He  even,  some  weeks  after,  assisted  cheer¬ 
fully  at  the  ringing  of  bells,  the  roasting  of  oxen,  and  other 
festivities — which  indicated  the  delight  of  the  neighborhood 
that  poor  Sir  Charles  was  not  the  last  of  the  Dame- 
rels. 

The  strange  story  was  a  nine  days’  wonder;  and  then  it 
all  died  out.  It  was  nobody’s  business  except  the  Dame- 
rels’ ;  and  they  were  satisfied.  The  widow — who  had  been 
seen  by  nobody  except  the  lawyers — went  away  ‘  ^  f or 
change  of  Sir,”  and  Sir  Arthur  Damerel  reigned  in  liis 


KiKCI  AUl’HtJfi: 


18d 


father^  s  stead — the  father  who  had  never  known  of  his  ex¬ 
istence.  It  was  a  strange  chapter  in  human  life — so  strange 
that  at  first  hardly  anybody  believed  it;  until,  one  by  one, 
everybody  got  used  to  it,  and  accepted  things  as  they  were, 
without  overmuch  questioning. 

As,  of  course,  all  this  change  was  hkewise  accepted  at 
the  rectory.  Mrs.  Trevena  looked  a  trifle  paler — she  had 
become  excessively  pale  and  thin  within  the  past  year; 
“  worn  to  a  shadow, people  said;  but  she  answered,  with 
a  peaceful  smile,  all  the  questions  and  congratulations. 
Only  she  never  spoke  of  Sir  Arthur  except  as  ‘  ^  my  son. 

There  was  another  thing  which  she  had  to  settle;  and  be 
also  congratulated  upon,  and  that  was  my  son^s  mar¬ 
riage.  ^  ^ 

‘‘  You  couldn’t  expect  me  to  live  in  that  big  house  all 
alone,  mother,”  pleaded  Arthur — with  amusing  simphcity. 
“  And  since  I  can  not  possibly  get  you,  why  not  let  me 
have  Nanny  to  take  care  of  me?” 

It  did  indeed  seem  the  wisest  plan.  Though  they  were 
both  so  young — only  nineteen  and  twenty-one — still  they 
were  not  ‘‘  foolish;”  for  both  had  already  battled  with  the 
world  sufficiently  to  gain  premature  wisdom.  And  perhaps 
after  all,  though  this  generation  does  not  think  so,  early 
marriages,  when  not  rash  or  improvident,  are  best.  Our 
grandfathers  and  grandmothers,  who  did  not  wait  to  be 
rich,  but  began  life  simply,  as  their  parents  did  before 
them,  and  spent  together  their  fresh,  unstained  hopeful 
youth,  their  busy  maturity,  their  peaceful  old  age,  were 
probably  happier  than  we  of  to-day;  who  fritter  away  in 
idle  flirting,  or  more  harmful  things,  our  blossoming  time; 
marrying  late  in  life  with  all  the  heart  gone  out  of  us;  or 
never  marrying  at  all,  and  then  arguing  sagely  that  to  ‘‘  faU 
in  love  ”  is  a  folly,  and  to  marry  is  little  less  than  a  crime. 

Mrs.  Trevena  did  not  think  so — would  not  have  thought 
so,  even  had  her  son  been  still  poor  ”  Arthur  Trevena. 
AVhen,  now  he  was  !Sir  Arthur  Damerel,  he  began  to  speak 


186 


KIKG  AHTHUR. 


of  his  marriage,  all  she  suggested  was  that  he  should  wait  a 
year,  out  of  respect  to  the  d^ad;  and  to  gain  a  little  experi¬ 
ence  in  managing  his  large  property,  for  the  good  of  the 
living. 

A  year  is  a  long  time,^^  said  he  disconsolately. 

‘‘  Is  it?^^  answered  his  mother,  with  a  strange,  far-away 
look,  which  startled  liim  a  nioment,  till  he  saw  it  melt  into 
her  usual  smile.  Then  let  it  he  six  months,  my  dear. 
Leave  me  Nanny,  and  stay  you  beside  me  for  just  six 
months  more.  Then — do  as  you  will.’’^ 

For  the  young  people,  neither  of  whom  had  seen  the 
world,  were  determined,  as  soon  as  ever  they  were  married, 
to  go  abroad  and  enjoy  themselves;  visiting  Switzerland, 
Italy — perhaps  even  going  on  to  Constantinople!  They 
were  so  happy — so  full  of  plans — so  resolved  to  do  no  end 
of  good  on  their  estate;  but  they  wanted  just  this  little  bit 
of  pleasure — a  harmless  frohc  together  before  they  settled 
down. 

And  so  the  winter  passed,  very  happily;  Arthur  being  at 
the  rectory  almost  as  much  as  when  he  used  to  live  there; 
but  never  failing  to  go  back  of  nights  to  his  large  dull 
house.  He  also  spent  conscientiously  every  forenoon  in  his 
study  with  his  steward,  repairing  much  evil  that  had  come 
about  in  his  father^s  days,  and  planning  no  end  of  good  to 
be  done  in  his  own.  A  happy  time!  full  of  hope  for  every¬ 
body.  Nobody  noticed  much  that  Mrs.  Trevena  was  the 
only  one  who  smiled  more  than  she  spoke,  and  made  no 
personal  plans  for  the  future  at  all. 

She  had  had,  ever  since  Sir  Charles’s  funeral  in  the 
chilly  church,  her  usual  winter  cold;  rather  worse  than 
usual;  for  she  ceased  to  fight  against  it;  left  everything  to 
Nanny  and  gradually  kept  entirely  to  the  house,  then  to 
her  own  room — a  new  thing,  wliich  her  husband  could  not 
understand  at  all.  He  went  wandering  about,  the  rectory 
like  a  spirit  in  pain;  or  walked  out  into  the  village  and 
wandered  there,  paying  necessary  or  unnecessary  pastoral 


KIN'G  ARTHUR. 


187 


visits,  and  telling  everybody  '^tliat  Mrs.  Trevena  bad  a 
bad  cold,  but  would  certainly  be  about  again  in  a  day  or 
two.  ”  And  sometimes,  strong  in  this  expectation,  when  he 
returned  he  would  come  to  the  foot  of  the  stairs  and  call 
“  Susannah!'’^  just  as  usual;  expecting  her  to  come,  as  she 
always  used  to  come,  nobody  knew  from  where — till  he  be¬ 
thought  himself  to  go  in  search  of  her  to  her  room.  There 
he  always  found  her,  and  sat  down  content  by  her  side. 

But,  beyond  that  room,  always  so  cheerful  and  bright — 
with  sunshine  if  there  was  any  sun,  with  firelight  if  there 
was  none,  the  house  and  he  had  to  endure  her  absence,  to 
learn  to  do  without  her.  Under  Nanny^s  charge  all  went 
on  as  usual — the  old  original  clock-work  way,'’-’ Arthur 
called  it,  and  hoped  his  wife  would  keep  his  big  house  as 
well  as  his  mother  had  kept  this  little  one.  But  day  after 
day  there  was  the  empty  chair  at  the  head  of  the  table,  the 
empty  sofa  by  the  drawing-room  fire,  the  work-box  that 
nobody  opened,  the  book  that  nobody  read. 

Did  any  of  them  understand?  Did  Susannah  herself  un¬ 
derstand?  Who  can  tell? 

There  comes  to  us  all  a  time  when  we  begin  to  say,  si¬ 
lently  of  course,  our  Nunc  cUmittis.  We  are  tired — so 
tired !  Perhaps  we  ought  not  to  be,  and  many  good  people 
would  reprove  us  for  being  so,  but  we  are  tired — 

“We  have  had  all  the  joys  that  the  world  could  bestow, 

We  have  lived,  we  have  loved.” 

Or  else,  we  have  had  no  joys,  and  have  long  since  given  up 
the  hope  of  any.  Which  was  scarcely  Susannah '’s  case,  and 
yet  she  was  tired. 

When  they  left  her  alone — though  they  never  did  it  for 
long — she  would  lean  her  head  back  against  her  pillows, 
with  the  weary  look  of  one  who  waits  for  bed-time.  All 
about  her  was  so  busy  and  bustling.  One  day  she  had 
watched  her  husband,  hale  and  hearty,  march  down  the 
garden  to  inquire  about  the  first  brood  of  chickens,  and  a 
Pebruary  lamb. 


188 


KIKG  AETHUE. 


It  will  soon  be  spring/^  slie  said  to  herself,  and  listened 
to  what  seemed  like  a  thrashes  note  in  the  garden;  soon 
drowned  by  Arthur^s  piano  below  stairs,  where  he  sat  play¬ 
ing,  with  his  ‘‘  little  Nanny  beside  him — the  girl  who  was 
almost  as  good  as  a  wife  to  him  already;  taking  care  of 
him,  guiding  him,  and  adoring  him  by  turns.  ‘‘  How 
happy  he  is — that  boyP'’  and  a  tear  or  two  dropped  from 
Susannah '’s  eyes;  human  tears!  I  should  like  to  have 
seen  his  children — just  one  little  baby,  like  himself — my 
little  baby  that  I  loved  so.  It  would  have  been  the  old  days 
over  again;  when  I  sat  in  the  rocking-chair — he  in  liis 
night-gown,  sucking  his  thumb,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  my 
face,  and  his  two  little  feet  in  one  of  my  hands.  Wasn^t 
he  a  pretty  baby?^^ 

The  last  sentence  was  said  aloud,  and  in  French,  to 
Manetfce — ^now  grown  stout  and  middle-aged,  but  with  her 
faithful  Swiss  heart  still  devoted  to  her  mistress,  creeping 
up  on  every  excuse  from  her  cooking  to  see  if  madam e 
wanted  anything. 

No;  Susannah’s  wants  were  few — as  they  always  had 
been.  She  was  an  invalid  who  gave  no  trouble  to  anybody. 
The  coming  Angel  came  so  steal tliily,  so  j^eacefully,  that 
no  one  ever  heard  his  step. 

Stop  a  minute,  Manette,”  she  said,  after  a  few  min¬ 
utes’  cheerful  chat.  I  wish  you  would  bring  the  rocking- 
chair  out  of  the  nursery — I  mean  Miss  Nanny’s  room — dear 
me,  how  stupid  I  am  growing!  I  should  like  to  have  it 
here.  ’  ’ 

Manette  brought  it:  and  when  the  young  people  came 
upstairs — which  they  did  very  soon,  for  they  were  not  self¬ 
ish  lovers — Arthur  greeted  it  with  a  shout  of  delight,  and 
declared  it  made  him  feel  like  a  little  baby  ”  once  more. 
All  that  evening  he  insisted  on  sitting  down  on  the  floor  at 
his  mother’s  feet;  and  let  her  play  with  his  curls,  or  what 
remained  of  them,  for  he  was  a  fashionable  young  man 
now,  and  had  his  hair  cut  like  other  golden  youths.  ”  He 


.KING  AETHUE. 


189 


told  iN’anny  ridiculous  stories  of  liis  childhood,  making 
himself  out  to  be  twice  as  naughty  as  he  ever  had  been; 
forcing  even  his  mother  to  laugh,  and  laughing  himself  till 
the  tears  ran  down  his  cheeks.  In  fact,  cheerful  and  con¬ 
tent  as  they  always  were  at  the  rectory,  they  had  seldom 
spent  so  merry  an  evening;  the  rector  included — who  came 
up  from  his  Saturday  night  ^s  sermon,  put  off  as  usual  till 
the  last  minute — and  begged  to  have  tea  in  his  wife^s  room. 

Everything  seems  so  out  of  order  down-stairs  when  you 
are  not  there,  Susannah,'’^  said  he  restlessly.  “You  really 
must  try  to  come  down  to-morrow.  Yow,  pour  out  my 
tea,  Yanny. 

Yo — not  ISTanny  this  time,^^  her  aunt  said  gently,  and 
bidding  Arthur  move  the  table  closer,  she  poured  out  her 
husband ^s  tea,  and  gave  it  to  him  with  her  own  hand — a 
rather  shaky  hand;  as  they  remembered  afterward,  and 
wondered  they  had  never  noticed  it,  nor  how  white  and 
quiet  she  sat,  long  after  the  meal  was  over. 

When  Arthur  had  kissed  his  mother  and  bade  her  good¬ 
night,  and  Yanny  came  back,  extra  rosy,  from  the  other 
rather  lengthy  good-night  which  always  took  place  at  the 
hall  door — she  thought  her  aunt  looked  more  tired  than 
usual,  and  said  so,  offering  to  stay  beside  her  for  awhile. 

Oh,  no!^^  Mrs.  Trevena  answered.  Let  everybody  go 
to  bed,  except  Manette.  She  can  sit  with  me  till  your  uncle 
comes  out  of  his  study.  Hanny  — holding  the  girffs  hand, 
and  looldng  hard  into  her  face — “  youffl  take  care  of  your 
uncle?  And — no,  I  need  not  tell  you  to  take  care  of 
Arthur.  Kiss  me,  my  dear.  Good-night. 

That  was  all. 

An  hour  later,  Nanny  was  startled  out  of  her  happy 
sleep,  as  sound  as  a  child^s,  to  see  Manette  standing,  white 
with  terror,  at  her  bedside.  That  had  happened  which 
nobody  feared  or  expected — except,  perhaps,  the  sufferer 
herself.  A  sudden  and  violent  fit  of  coughing  had  produced 
hemorrhage  of  the  lungs,  and  Mrs.  Trevena  was  dying, 


190 


KIKG  ARTHUK. 


Nanny  sprung  out  of  her  bed — she  had  had  long  experi¬ 
ence  in  sick-uursing,  enough  to  know  that  this  was  a  ques¬ 
tion  not  of  days  or  hours,  but  of  minutes — that  there  was 
no  time  to  summon  anybody,  that  what  help  could  be 
given  must  be  given  at  once,  by  herself  and  Manette  alone, 
for  there  was  nobody  to  aid  them,  and  no  time  to  call  any¬ 
body. 

Susannah  let  them  do  all  they  could.  She  was  quite  con¬ 
scious — smiled  her  thanks  several  times,  but  she  never  at¬ 
tempted  to  speak  a  word.  Except  once,  when  she  heard 
Manette  proposing  to  fetch  Mr.  Trevena,  and  motioned  a 
feeble  but  decided  negative. 

‘‘  No,  no!  Save  him  from — from  anything  painful. 
Don^t  let  him  see  me — till  afterward. 

And  so  it  befell  that  the  breast  upon  which  the  parting 
soul  relied  was  not  her  husband^ s,  not  Arthur^s,  both  so 
tenderly  beloved,  but  Nanny^s,  whom  she  had  always  been 
land  to,  and  liked  much  without  actually  loving — Nanny, 
the  blameless  daughter  of  her  lifelong  foe. 

There,  just  before  midnight,  while  the  rector  was  still 
busy  over  his  sermon,  and  Arthur  at  Tawton  Abbas  was 
sleeping  the  sleep  of  healthy,  happy  youth,  Susannah 
gradually  lost  all  memory  even  of  them,  all  consciousness 
of  the  world  about  her,  and  passed  peacefully  away  into  the 
world  unknown. 

When  the  two  who  to  her  had  been  so  infinitely  dear  came 
to  look  at  her,  there  was,  as  she  had  wished,  ‘‘  nothing 
painful  — only  a  beautiful  image  of  eternal  rest.  Did  she 
love  them  still?  Who  knows?  Let  us  pray  that  it  may  be 
so. 

None  can  mourn  forever:  it  is  not  right  they  should. 
But  it  was  a  whole  year  before  Arthur  recovered  from  the 
blow  which,  to  him,  had  fallen  like  a  thunder-bolt  out  of  a 
clear  sky.  The  young  seldom  realize  death  unless  it  comes 
quite  close  to  them.  It  had  never  entered  his  mind  that  his 
mother  would  die — until  she  died.  He  could  not  imagine 
existence  without  her.  The  shock  was  so  great,  and  the 
change  it  wrought  in  him  so  piteous,  that  Nanny  was  for  a 
time  absolutely  terrified.  Both  the  young  people  seemed 
to  grow  suddenly  old.  They  spoke  of  love  and  marriage 
no  more,  but  devoted  themselves  like  a  real  son  and 


KIKG  ARTHUE.  191 

daughter  to  the  desolate  man  who  had  lost  even  more  than 
they. 

The  rector  was  very  quiet  from  first  to  last.  Whether  he 
grieved  or  not^  no  one  could  tell;  from  the  day  of  her 
funeral  he  rarely  mentioned  hiswife^s  name.  But  he  often 
went  wandering  mournfully  about  the  house  as  if  in  search 
of  her,  and  then  went  silently  back  to  his  books;  taking 
very  little  interest  in  anything  else.  He  seemed  to  have 
suddenly  turned  into  an  old  man — quite  patient  and  quite 
helpless.  It  was  not  without  cause  that  Nanny  always 
answered  when  questioned  about  the  date  of  her  marriage, 

I  couldnT  leave  him;  she  told  me  to  take  care  of  him.'’^ 
In  truth,  for  a  long  time  all  that  the  forlorn  three  appeared 
to  think  of  was  to  do  exactly  as  she  had  said,  or  would  have 
wished. 

And  they  were  doing  it,  they  felt  sure,  when,  as  the 
primroses  of  the  second  spring  began  to  blossom  over  her 
grave,  Arthur  took  courage  and  again  asked  for  Nanny. 
The  birds  were  singing,  the  little  lambs  bleating,  the 
chickens  chirping — all  her  young ‘‘ family,^ ^  as  Susannah 
used  to  call  them — the  creatures  whom  she  had  so  liked  to 
see  happy  about  her. 

She  would  like  us  to  be  happy,  I  know,^^  Arthur  said, 
when  he  urged  the  question,  and  insisted  to  Nanny  that 
Manette  was  quite  able  to  take  charge  of  the  rector  now, 
and  that  she  herself  would  not  be  more  than  a  few  minutes'’ 
walk  from  her  uncle.  When  Mr.  Trevena  was  told  all  this 
he  assented  without  hesitation  to  the  marriage.  It  did  not 
much  matter  to  him  who  took  care  of  him  now.  He  might 
live  many  years  yet — the  bookworm '’s  placid  self-absorbed 
life ;  but  the  half  of  himself  was  missing  forever. 

So,  one  bright  spring  day,  Arthur  led  his  bride  past  his 
mother^s  grave.  His  mother  would  not  have  grieved:  she 
would  have  been  glad — as  is  the  instinct  of  all  unselhsh 
souls. 

“  On  that  grave  drop  not  a  tear  .  .  . 

Rather  smile  there,  blessed  one, 

Thinking  of  me  in  the  sun; 

Or  forget  me,  smiling  on.” 

But  she  was  not  forgotten — she  never  could  be.  She 
had  lived  long  enough  to  make  her  boy  all  that  he  was;  to 
form  his  mind  and  character,  heart  and  soul;  to  fit  him  for 
the  aims  and  duties  of  life;  high  aims  and  serious  duties; 


m 


KIKG  ARTfitlH. 


for  Sir  Arthur  Damerel  is  not  the  sort  of  man  to  hide  hini-‘ 
self,  or  submit  to  be  hidden,  under  a  bushel.  His  position 
must  inevitably  bring  him  many  a  responsibility,  many  a 
trouble  and  care;  but  he  will  fight  tlirough  all,  with  his 
wife  beside  him — little  Nanny,  who  has  given  the  neighbor¬ 
hood  an  entirely  new  and  revised  edition  of  the  Lady 
Hamerels  of  Tawton  Abbas.  Active,  energetic,  kindly, 
benevolent — he  is  so  well  loved  both  by  rich  and  poor  that 
no  one  stops  to  consider  whether  or  not  she  is  beautiful. 
Nor  does  her  husband.  To  him  she  is  simply  “little 
Nanny. 

One  of  their  duties — not  always  a  pleasant  one — is  their 
yearly  visit  of  a  day  or  two  to  the  Dowager  Lady  Damerel, 
who  has  turned  very  religious,  and  is  made  much  of  in  a 
select  circle  who  have  taken  the  title  of  “  Believers,'’^  one  of 
their  points  of  belief  being  that  nobody  can  be  saved,  ex¬ 
cept  themselves.  Such  a  creed  is  the  natural  outcome  of 
that  pleasure-loving  egoism  which  had  characterized  her 
earlier  days.  The  greater  the  sinner,  the  greater  the  saint 
— if  such  sainthood  is  worth  anything.  She  takes  very 
little  interest  in  her  son  or  his  belongings;  except  perhaps 
in  one  very  handsome  baby  granddaughter,  who  she  declares 
is  just  like  herself;  but  they  are  on  terms  of  the  utmost 
politeness.  Only  he  never  calls  her  anything  but  “  Lady 
Damerel.'’^  He  feels  that  his  real  mother — “  my  mother, 
as  he  always  speaks  of  her,  and  scarcely  a  day  passes  that 
he  does  not  speak  of  her — w^as  she  who  sleeps  in  that  quiet 
grave  within  sight  of  the  dining-room  window  of  the  dear 
old  rectory. 

And  Susannah,  had  she  known  this,  and  seen  how  her 
influence  will  descend  through  Arthur  to  his  children’s 
children,  would  have  died  content,  feeling  that  those  one- 
and-twenty  years  had  not  been  thrown  away — that  she  had 
not  only  made  her  own  life  and  her  husband’s  happy — but, 
as  good  Dr.  Franklin  once  said,  she  had  “  saved  a  soul 
alive. 


THE  END. 


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gle  for  Love.  By  Charlotte 
M.  Braeme .  25 

5  Mohawks.  By  Miss  M.  E.  Brad- 

don.  First  half .  25 

5  Mohawks.  By  Miss  M.  E.  Brad- 

dqp.  Second  half . . . 25 

6  Dick’s  Sweetheart;  or,  ‘‘  O  Ten¬ 

der  Dolores !”  “  The  Duchess  ”  25 

7  A  Woman’s  Error.  By  Charlotte 

M.  Braeme .  25 

8  La  dy  Branksmere.  By  “  The 

Duchess” .  25 

9  The  World  Between  Them.  By 

Charlotte  M.  Braeme .  25 

to  Wife  in  Name  Only.  By  Char¬ 
lotte  M.  Braeme .  25 

11  Kidnapped.  By  Robert  Louis 

Stevenson .  25 

12  A  Mental  Struggle.  By  “The 

Duchess  ” .  25 

13  Strange  Case  of  Dr.  Jekyll  and 

Mr.  Hyde.  By  Robert  Lohis 
Stevenson .  25 

14  Thorns  and  Orange-Blossoms. 

By  Charlotte  M.  Braeme .  25 

16  Set  in  Diamonds.  By  Charlotte 
M.  Braeme...  . . ....25 


NO.  PRICE. 

16  A  Broken  Wedding-Ring.  By 

Charlotte  M.  Braeme . .  25 

17  Her  Martyrdom.  By  Charlotte 

M.  Braeme . 25 

18  Beyond  Pardon.  By  Charlotte 

M.  Braeme .  25 

19  Doris’s  Fortune.  By  Florence 

Warden .  25 

20  Doctor  Cupid.  Rhoda  Broughton  25 

21  The  Guilty  River.  Wilkie  Collins  25 

22  A  Golden  Heart.  By  Charlotte 

M.  Braeme  .  25 

23  By  Woman’s  Wit.  Mrs.  Alexander  25 

24  Siie:  A  History  of  Adventure. 

By  H.  Rider  Haggard .  25 

25  Pure  Gold.  By  Mrs.  H.  Lovett 

Cameron.  First  half .  25 

25  Pure  Gold.  By  Mrs.  H.  Lovett 

Camei-on.  Second  half .  25 

26  A  Cardinal  Sin.  Hugh  Conway  25 

27  My  Friend  Jim.  W.  E.  Norris.  25 

28  That  Other  Person.  By  Mrs.  Al¬ 

fred  Hunt.  First  half .  25 

28  That  Other  Person.  By  Mrs.  Al¬ 

fred  Hunt.  Second  half . 25 

29  Called  Back.  Bj'Hugh  Conway  25 

30  The  Witch’s  Head.  By  H.  Rider 

Haggard — ; .  25 

31  King  Solomon’s  Mines.  By  H. 

Rider  Haggard . 25 

32  Locksley  Hall  Sixty  Years 

After,  etc.  By  Alfred,  Lord 
Tennyson...,,,..,,, . 25 


2 


THE  SEASIDE  LIBRARY— 25-CENr  Edition. 


NO,  PRICK 

83  At  War  With  Herself.  By  Char¬ 

lotte  M.  Braeme .  25 

84  Fair  Women.  By  Mrs.  Forrester  25 
35  A  Fallen  Idol.  By  F.  Anstey...  25 
35  The  Mark  of  Cain.  By  Andrew 

Lang .  25 

37  A  Crimson  Stain.  By  Annie 

Bradshaw . . . 25 

38  At  Bay.  B3'  Mrs.  Alexander _  25 

39  Vice  Versa  By  F.  Anstey . 25 

40  The  Case  of  Rei^l^n  Malachi.  By 

H.  Sutherland  Edwards .  25 

41  The  Mayor  of  Casterbridge.  By 

Thomas  Hardy .  25 

42  New  Arabian  Nights.  By  Rob¬ 

ert  Louis  Stevenson .  25 

43  Dark  Days.  By  Hugh  Conway.  25 

44  King  Arthur.  By  Miss  Mulock. .  25 

45  Living  or  Dead.  Hugh  Conway  25 

46  A  Wicked  Girl.  Mary  Cecil  Hay  25 

47  Bound  by  a  Spell.  Hugh  Conway  25 


48  Beaton’s  Bargain.  By  Mrs.  Alex¬ 

ander . 25 

49  I  Have  Lived  and  Loved.  By 

Mrs.  Forrester .  25 

50  The  Secret  of  Her  Life.  By  Ed¬ 

ward  Jenkins .  25 

51  The  Haunted  Chamber,  By 

“  The  Duchess  ” .  25 

52  Uncle  Max.  By  Rosa  Nouchette 

Carey,  First  half . 25 

52  Uncle  Max.  By  Rosa  Nouchette 

Carey.  Second  half .  25 

53  Maid,  Wife,  or  Widow?  By  Mrs. 

Alexander .  25 

54  A  Woman’s  Temptation.  By 

Charlotte  M.  Braeme .  25 

55  Once  Again.  Mrs.  Forrester _  25 


66  Vera  Nevill ;  or.  Poor  Wisdom’s 
Chance.  Mrs.H.Lovett  Cameron  25 
57  The  Outsider.  Hawley  Smart. .  25 
68  Jess,  By  H.  Rider  Haggard _ 25 

59  Dora  Thorne.  By  Charlotte  M. 

Braeme .  25 

60  Queenie’s  Whim.  By  Rosa  Nou¬ 

chette  Carey.  1st  half . 25 

60  Queenie’s  Whim.  By  Rosa  Nou¬ 

chette  Carey.  2d  half .  25 

61  Hilary’s  Folly.  By  Charlotte  M. 

Braeme . 25 

62  Barbara  Heathcote's  Trial.  By 

RosaN.  Carey.  1st  half . 25 

62  Barbara  Heathcote’s  Trial.  By 

Rosa  N.  Carey.  2d  half . 25 

63  Between  Two  Sins.  By  Charlotte 

M.  Braeme .  25 

64  A  Bachelor’s  Blunder.  By  W. 

E.  Norris . 25 

65  Nellie’s  Memories.  Rosa  Nou¬ 

chette  Carey.  1st  half . 25 

65  Nellie’s  Memories.  Rosa  Nou¬ 

chette  Carey.  2d  half . 25 

66  Repented  at  Leisure.  By  Char¬ 

lotte  M.  Braeme .  25 

67  Wooed  and  Married.  By  Rosa 

Nouchette  Carey.  1st  half. . .  25 
67  Wooed  and  Married.  By  Rosa 
Nouchette  Carey  2d  half . . .  25 


NO.  PRICK, 

68  The  Merry  Men.  By  Robert 

Louis  Stevenson . 25 

69  Not  Like  Other  Girls.  By  Rosa 

Nouchette  Cai'ey .  25 

70  0th mar.  l^j’’ “  Ouida.”  1st  half  25 

70  Othmar.  By  ‘‘Ouida.”  2d  half  25 

71  Robert  Ord’s  Atonement,  By 

Rosa  Nouchette  Care.y . 25 

72  Sunshine  and  Roses.  By  Char¬ 

lotte  M.  Braeme . 25 

73  For  Lilias.  By  Rosa  Nouchette 
Carey.  First  half .  25 

73  For  Liiias.  By  Rosa  Nouchette 

Care3'.  Second  half . 25 

74  Les  Mis6rables.  By  Victor 

Hugo.  Parti .  25 

74  Les  Mis^rables.  By  Victor 

Hugo.  Part  II .  25 

74  Les  Mis6rables.  By  Victor 

Hugo.  Part  III .  25 

75  One  Thing  Needful.  By  Miss  M. 

E.  Braddon . 25 

76  The  Master  Passion.  By  Flor¬ 

ence  Marry  at . 25 

77  Marjorie.  Charlotte  M.  Braeme  25 

78  Under  Two  Flags.  By  “Ouida”  25 

79  Tlie  Dark  House.  By  George 

Manville  Fenn . 25 

80  The  House  on  the  Marsh.  By 

Florence  Warden .  25 

81  In  a  Grass  Country.  By  Mrs.  H. 

Lovett  Cameron .  25 

82  Why  Not?  By  Florence  Mar ryat  25 

83  Weavers  and  Weft;  or,  “  Love 

That  Hath  Us  in  His  Net.” 

By  Miss  M.  E.  Braddon .  25 

84  The  Professor,  By  Charlotte 

Bront6 . 25 

85  The  Trumpet-Major.  By  Thomas 

Hardy . 25 

86  The  Dead  Secret.  Wilkie  Collins  25 

87  Deldee;  or.  The  Iron  Hand.  By 

Florence  Warden .  25 

88  Springhaven.  R.  D.  Blackmore  25 

89  A  Vagrant  Wife.  By  Florence 

Warden . . 25 

90  Struck  Down.  By  Hawley  Smart  25 

91  At  the  World’s  Mercy.  By  Flor¬ 

ence  Warden . 25 

92  Claribel’s Love  Story; or, Love’s 

Hidden  Depths.  By  Charlotte 
M.  Braeme . 1 . 25 

93  The  Shadow  of  a  Sin.  By  Char¬ 

lotte  M.  Braeme .  25 

94  Court  Royal.  By  S.  Baring- 

Gould . 25 

95  Faith  and  Unfaith.  By  “The 

Duchess” .  25 

96  Cheriy  Ripe.  By  Helen  B. 

IVT  At*G  OiR 

97  Little  Tu’penny.  By  S,  Baring- 

Gould .  26 

98  Cojneth  Up  as  a  Flower.  By 

Rhoda  Broughton . 25 

99  From  Gloom  to  Sunlight.  By 

Charlotte  M.  Braeme .  25 

100  Redeemed  by  Love.  By  Char¬ 
lotte  M-  Braeme , .  . 26 


THE  SEASIDE  LTEEATIY — 25  Cent  Edition. 


3 


NO.  PRICE. 

101  A  Woman’s  War.  By  Charlotte 

M.  Braeme . 25 

102  ’Twixt  Smile  and  Tear.  By 

Charlotte  M.  Braeme .  25 

103  Lady  Diana’s  Pride.  By  Char¬ 

lotte  M.  Braeme .  25 

104  Sweet  Cymbeline.  By  Charlotte 

M.  Braeme .  25 

105  The  Belle  of  Lynn.  By  Char¬ 

lotte  M.  Braeme .  25 

106  Dawu.  By  H.  Rider  Haggard . .  ^ 

107  The  I'iu  ted  Venus.  B5'F.  Anstey  25 

108  Adclie’s  Husband;  or,  Through 

Clouds  to  Sunshine .  25 

109  The  Rabbi’s  Spell.  By  Stuart 

C.  Cumberland .  25 

110  Cornin’  Thro’  the  Rye.  By 

Helen  B.  Mathers .  25 

111  Phyllis.  By The  Duchess  ..  25 

112  Tinted  Vapours.  By  J.  Maclaren 

Cobban .  25 

113  A  Haunted  Life.  By  Charlotte 

M.  Braeme .  25 

114  The  Woodlanders.  By  Thomas 

Hardy .  25 

115  Wee  Wide.  By  Rosa  Nouchette 

Carey .  25 

116  Worth  Winning.  By  Mrs.  H. 

Lovett  Cameron .  25 

117  Sabina  Zembra.  By  William 

Black . 25 

118  For  Maimie’s  Sake.  By  Grant 

Allen . 25 

119  Good-bye,  Sweetheart  1  By 

Rhoda  Broughton .  25 

120  Dolores.  By  Mrs.  Forrester _  25 

121  Rossmoyne.  By  “The Duchess”  25 

122  A  Girl’s  Heart . 25 

123  Garrison  Gossip;  Gathered  in 

Blankhampton.  By  John 
Strange  Winter .  25 

124  File  No.  113.  By  Emile  Gaboriau  25 

125  King  Solomon’s  Wives.  By 

Hyder  Ragged .  25 

126  He.  By  the  author  of  “  King 

Solomon’s  Wives” .  25 


12?  The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young 

Man.  B}’  Octave  Feuillet _ 25 

128  Hilda.  By  Charlotte  M.  Braeme  25 

129  The  Master  of  the  Mine.  By 

Robert  Buchanan . 25 

130  Portia.  By  “  The  Duchess  ”...  25 

131  Matt:  A  Tale  of  a  Caravan. 

By  Robert  Buchanan .  25 

132  Mr.'S.  Geoffrey.  “The  Duchess”  25 

133  June.  By*Mrs.  Forrester .  25 

134  In  Durance  Vile  By  “  The 

Duchess  ” . 25 

135  Diana  Carew.  Mrs.  Forrester.  25 

136  Loys,  Lord  Berresford.  By 

“  The  Duchess  ” . 25 


NO.  PRICK. 

137  My  Lord  and  My  Lady.  By  Mrs. 

Forrester .  25 

138  Airy  Fairy  Lilian.  By  “  The 

Duchess” .  25 

139  Viva.  By  Mrs.  Forrester . 25 

140  Molly  Bawn.  “  The  Duchess  ”  25 

141  Rhona.  By  Mrs.  Forrester _ 25 

142  Beauty’s  Daughters.  By  “  The 

X)iic‘ii6SS  ^^4  *  25 

143  A  Maiden  All  Foriorn.  By  “The 

X)lic1i0ss  25 

144  The  Mj^stery  of  Colde  Fell;  or, 

Not  Proven.  By  Charlotte  M. 
Braeme .  25 

145  Borderland  Jessie  Fothergill  25 

146  A  Prince  of  Darkness.  By 

Florence  Warden . 25 

147  Roy  and  Viola.  By  Mrs.  For- 

T0st0r  25 

148  Doris.  By  “  The  Duchess  ” _  25 

149  Mignon.  B.y  Mrs.  Forrester. . .  25 

150  The  Crime  of  Christmas  Da}'. . .  25 

151  The  Squire's  Darling.  By  Char¬ 

lotte  M.  Bmenie .  25 

152  Robur  the  Conqueror.  By  Jules 

Verne .  25 

153  A  Dark  Marriage  Morn.  By 

Charlotte  M.  Braeme . 25 

154  Within  an  Inch  of  His  Life.  By 

Emile  Gaboriau .  25 

155  Other  People’s  Money.  By 

Emile  Gaboriau . 25 

156  Gold  Elsie.  By  E.  Marlitt . 25 

157  Her  Second  Love.  By  Charlotte 

M.  Braeme .  25 

158  East  Lynne.  Mrs.  Henry  Wood  25 

159  On  Her  Wedding  Morn.  By 

Charlotte  M.  Braeme .  25 

160  Allan  Quatermain.  By  H.  Rider 

Haggard .  25 

161  The  Duke’s  Secret.  By  Char¬ 

lotte  M  Braeine .  25 

162  Old  Ma’m’selle’s  Secret.  By  E. 

25 

163  The  Shattered  idol.  By  Char¬ 

lotte  M.  Braeme .  25 

164  A  Modern  Circe.  By  “  The  Duch¬ 

ess  ” .  25 

165  As  in  a  Looking-Glass.  By  F. 

C.  Philips. .  25 

166  The  Earl’s  Error.  By  Charlotte 

M.  Braeme . 25 

167  Scheherazade:  A  London 

Night’s  Entertainment.  By 
Florence  Warden . 25 

168  The  Duchess.  By  “  The  Duch¬ 

ess” . 25 

169  The  Strange  Adventirres  of 

Lucy  Smith.  By  F.  C.  Philips  25 

170  Driver  Dallas.  By  J.  S.  Winter.  25 


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NUMEKICAL  LIST 


1  Yolande.  By  William  Black..  20 

2  Molly  Bawn.  “  The  Duchess  ”  20 

3  Mill  on  the  Floss,  The.  By 


George  Eliot .  20 

4  Under  Two  Flags.  By  “Ouida  ”  20 

5  Admiral’s  Ward.  The.  By  Mrs. 

Alexander .  20 

6  Portia.  By  “The  Duchess  ”...  20 

7  File  No.  113.  By  Emile  Gabo- 

riau .  20 

8  East  Lynne.  Mrs.  Henry  Wood  20 

9  Wanda,  Countess  von  Szalras. 

By  “Ouida” .  20 

10  Old  Curiosity  Shop,  The.  By 

Charles  Dickens . 20 

11  John  Halifax,  Gentleman,  By 

Miss  Mulock . 20 

12  Other  People’s  Money.  By 

Emile  Gaboriau .  20 

13  Eyre’s  Acquittal.  By  Helen  B. 

Mathers .  10 

14  Airy  Fairy  Lilian.  By  “  The 

Duchess” .  10 

15  Jane  Eyre.  By  Charlotte  Bronte  20 

16  Phyllis.  By  “The  Duchess”..  20 

17  Wooing  O’t,  The.  By  Mrs.  Alex- 

20 

18  Shandon  Bells.  By  Wm.  Black  20 

19  Her  Mother’s  Sin.  By  Charlotte 

M.  Braeme,  author  of  “  Dora 
Thorne” .  10 

20  Within  an  Inch  of  His  Life. 

By  Emile  Gaboriau .  20 

#1  Sunrise ;  A  Story  of  These  Times 

Bj^Wm.  Black .  20 

22  David  Copperfield.  By  Charles 

Dickens.  Vol.  1 . 20 

22  David  Copperfield.  By  Charles 
Dickens.  Vol.  II .  20 


23  Princess  of  Thule,  A.  By  Will¬ 


iam  Black . . 28 

24  Pickwick  Papers.  By  Charles 
Dickens.  Vol.  1 .  20 

24  Pickwick  Papers.  By  Charles 

Dickens.  Vol.  II . . .  20 

25  Mrs. Geoffrey.  “  The  Duchess.” 

(Large  type  edition) .  20 

950  Mrs.  Geoffrey.  “The Duchess”  10 

26  Monsieur  Lecoq.  By  Emile 

Gaboriau.  Vol.  1 .  20 

26  Monsieur  Lecoq.  By  Emile 

Gaboriau.  Vol.  II .  20 

27  Vanity  Fair.  By  William  M. 

Thackeray . 20 

28  Ivanhoe,  By  Sir  Walter  Scott.  20 

29  Beauty’s  Daughters.  By  “  The 

Duchess” .  .  10 

30  Faith  and  Unfaith.  By  “  The 


31  Middlemarch.  By  George  Eliot. 
First  half .  20 

31  Middlemarch.  By  George  Eliot. 

Second  half . 20 

32  Land  Leaguers,  The.  By  An¬ 

thony  Trollope . 20 

33  Clique  of  Gold,  The.  By  Emile 

Gaboriau . '. .  10 

34  Daniel  Deronda.  By  George 

Eliot.  First  half .  20 

34  Daniel  Deronda.  By  George 

Eliot.  Second  half .  20 

35  Lady  Audley’s  Secret.  By  Miss 

M.  E.  Braddon .  20 

36  Adam  Bede.  By  George  Eliot.  20 

37  Nicholas  Nickleby.  By  Charles 

Dickens.  First  half . 20 

37  Nicholas  Nickleby.  By  Charles 
Dickens.  Second  half  ..  .. 


2 


THE  SEASIDE  LIBRARY— Pocri2T  Edition 


38  Widow  Lerouge,  The.  By  Emile 

Gaboriau .  20 

39  Tn  Silk  Attire.  By  William  Black  20 

40  Last  Days  of  Pompeii,  The.  By 

Buhver  Lytton . 20 

41  Oliver  Twist.  By  Chas.  Dickens  20 

42  Romola.  By  George  Eliot .  20 

4;i  Mystery  of  Orcival,  The.  By 

Emile  Gaboriau . 20 

44  Macleod  of  Dare.  Wm.  Black.  20 

45  Little  Pilgrim,  A.  By  Mrs.  Oli- 

phant . . .  10 

40  Very  Hard  Cash.  B^^  Charles 
Reade . 20 

47  Altiora  Peto.  By  Laurence  Oli- 

phant . 20 

48  Thicker  Than  Water.  By  James 

Payn . 20 

49  That  Beautiful  Wretch.  By 

William  Black .  20 

50  Strange  Adventures  of  a  Phae¬ 

ton,  The.  By  William  Black.  20 

51  Dora  Thorne.  By  Charlotte  M. 

^3i*^0rri0  20 

52  New  Magdalen,  The.  By  Wilkie 

Collins . 10 

53  Story  of  Ida,  The.  By  Francesca  10 

54  Broken  Wedding-Ring,  A.  By 

Charlotte  M.  Braeme,  author 
of  “  Dora  Thorne  ” .  20 

55  Three  Q'tiardsmen,  The.  By 

Alexander  Dumas . 20 

56  Phantom  I’ortune.  By  Miss  M. 

E.  Braddon . 20 

57  Shirley.  By  Chai’lotte  Bront6.  20 

58  By  the  Gate  of  the  Sea.  By  D. 

Christie  Murray .  10 

59  Vice  Versa.  By  F.  Austey _ 20 

60  Last  of  the  Mohicans,  The.  By 

J.  Fenimore  Cooper . 20 

61  Charlotte  Temple.  By  Mrs. 

Rowson .  10 

62  Executor,  The.  By  Mrs.  Alex- 

andei' . . .  20 

63  Spy,  The.  By  J.  Fenimore 

Cooper  . . 20 

64  Maiden  Fair,  A.  Charles  Gibbon  10 

65  Back  to  the  Old  Home.  By 

Mary  Cecil  Hay .  10 

66  Romance  of  a  Poor  VoungMan, 

The.  Bj'  Octave  Feuillet _  10 

67  Lorna  Doone.  By  R.  D.  Black- 

more.  First  half . 20 

67  Lorna  Doone.  By  R.  D.  Black- 

more.  Second  half .  !I0 

68  Queen  Amongst  Women,  A.  By 

Charlotte  M.  Braeme,  author 
of  “Dora  Thorne” .  10 

69  Madolin’s  Lover.  By  Charlotte 

M.  Braeme,  author  of  “Dora 
Thorne” . 20 

70  White  Wings:  A  Yachting  Ro¬ 

mance.  By  William  Black  . .  10 

71  Struggle  for  Fame,  A.  By  Mrs. 

J.  H.  Riddell . 20 

72  Old  Myddelton’s  Money.  By 

Mary  Cecil  Hay . . 20 


Redeemed  bj-  Love;  or.  Love’s 
Victory.  B3'  Charlotte  M, 
Braeme.  author  of  “Dora 

Thorne” .  20, 

Aurora  Floj’d.  Bj'  Miss  M.  E. 

Braddon .  20 

Twenty  Years  After.  By  Alex¬ 
ander  Dumas .  20 

Wife  in  Name  Only;  or,  A  Bro¬ 
ken  Heart.  By  Cliarlotte  M. 
Braeme,  author  of  “  Dora 

Thorne  ”  . . 20 

Tale  of  Two  Cities,  A.  B3’ 

Charles  Dickens .  20 

Madcap  Violet.  B}'^  Wm.  Black  20 
Wedded  and  Parted.  By  Char¬ 
lotte  M.  Braeme,  author  of 

“Dora  Thorne” .  10 

June.  By  Mrs.  Forrester .  20 

Daughter  of  Heth,  A.  .  By  Will¬ 
iam  Black . .  20 

Sealed  Lips.  F.  Du  Boisgobey.  20 
Strange  Story,  A.  Bj^  Sir  E. 

Bulwer  Lytton .  20 

Hard  Times.  By  Chas.  Dickens  10 
Sea  Queen,  A.  By  W.  Clark 

Russell .  20 

Belinda.  By  Rhoda  Broughton  20 
Dick  Sand;  or,  A  Captain  at 

Fifteen.  By  Jules  Verne _ 20 

Privateersman,  The.  By  Cap¬ 
tain  Marry  at . 20 

Red  Eric,  Tlie.  Bj"  R.  M.  Ballan- 

tyne . 10 

Ernest  Mai tra vers.  By  Sir  E.  Bul¬ 
wer  Lytton .  20 

Barnaby  Rudge.  By  Charles 

Dickens.  First  half .  20 

Barnab3’  Rudge.  By  Charles 

Dickens.  Second  half . 20 

Lord  Lj'nne’s  Choice.  By  Char¬ 
lotte  M.  Braeme,  author  of 

“Dora  Thorne” .  10 

Anthony  Trollope’s  Autobiog- 

raphj' . 20 

Little  Dorrit.  By  Charles  Dick- 


V.^X.t.0*  JL  A4  AJCVIA.  •  <W 

Little  Dorrit.  By  Charles  Dick¬ 
ens.  Second  half .  20 

Fire  Brigade,  The.  By  R.  M. 

Ballantyne .  10 

Erling  the  Bold.  By  R.  M.  Bal¬ 
lantyne . 10 

All  in  a  Garden  Fair.  By  Wal¬ 
ter  Besant . 20 

Woman-Hater,  A.  By  Charles 

Reade .  20 

Barbara’s  History.  By  Amelia 

B.  Edwards _ " .  20 

20,000  Leagues  Under  tl\e  Seas, 

By  Jules  Verne .  20 

Second  Thoughts.  By  Rhoda 

Broughton . 20 

Moonstone,  The.  Wilkie  Collins  20 
Rose  Fleming.  By  Dora  Russell  10 
Cqral  Pin,  The.  By  F.  Du  Bois¬ 
gobey.  1st  half .  20 

Coral  Pin,  The.  By  F,  Du  Bois¬ 
gobey.  2d  half — . .  21 


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102 

103 

104 

104 


THE  SEASIDE  LIBRARY~rocKET  Edition. 


3 


Noble  Wife,  A.  John  Saunders  20 
1  Jeak  House.  By  Charles  Dick¬ 
ens.  First  half .  20 

Bleak  House.  By  Charles  Dick¬ 
ens.  Second  half .  20 

Donibey  and  Son.  By  Charles 

Dickens.  First  half . 20 

Dombey  and  Son.  By  Charles 

Dickens.  Second  half .  20 

Cricket  on  the  Hearth,  The. 

By  Charles  Dickens _  i _  10 

Doctor  Marigold.  By  Charles 

Dickens.' .  . .  10 

Little  Loo.  By  W.  Clark  Rus.sell  20 
Under  the  Red  Flag.  By  Miss 

M.  E.  Braddon . 10 

Little  School-master  Mark,  The. 

By  J.  H.  Shorthouse . 10 

Waters  of  Marah,  The.  By  John 

Hill .  20 

Mrs.  Carr’s  Companion.  By  M. 

G.  Wightwick . 10 

Some  of  Our  Girls.  By  Mrs.  C. 

J.  Eiloart .  20 

Diamond  Cut  Diamond.  By  T. 

Adolphus  Trollope .  10 

Moths.  By  “  Ouida  ” . 20 

Tale  of  the  Shore  and  Ocean,  A. 

By  William  H.  G.  Kingston..  20 
Loys,.  Lord  Berresford,  and 
Eric  Dering.  “  The  Duchess  ”  10 
Monica,  and  A  Rose  Distill’d. 

By  “  The  Duches.s  ” .  10 

Tom  Brown’s  School  Days  at 
Rugby.  By  Thomas  Hughes.  20 
Maid  of  Athens.  By  Justin 

McCarth}' . 20 

lone  Stewart.  B3^  Mrs.  E,  Lynn 

Linton .  20 

Sweet  is  True  Love.  By  “  The 
Duchess  ” .  10 

124  Three  Feathers.  By  Wm.  Black  20 

125  Monarch  of  Mincing  Lane,  The. 

By  William  Black . . . 20 

Kilmenj".  By  William  Black. .  20 
Adrian  Bright.  B.y  Mrs.  Oaddj'  20 
Afternoon,  and  Other  Sketches. 

By  “Ouida” .  10 

Rossmoyne.  By  “  The  Duchess  ”  10 
Last  of  the  Barons,  The,  By  Sir 
E.  Bulwer  Lrtton.  1st  half..  20 
Htist  of  tlie  Barons,  The.  By  Sir 
E.  Bulwer  Lytton.  2d  half..  20 
Our  Mutual  Friend.  By  Charles 

Dickens.  First  half .  20 

Our  Mutual  Friend.  By  Charles 

Dickens.  Second  half . .  20 

Master  Humphrey’s  Clock.  By 

Charles  Dickens .  10 

Peter  the  Whaler.  Bt’  William 

H.  G.  Kingston _ .  10 

Witching  Hour,  The,  and  Other 

Stories.  By  “  The  Duchess  ”.  10 
Great  Heiress,  A :  A  Fortune  in 
Seven  Ciiecks.  By  R.  E.  Fran- 

cillon .  10 

“That  Last  Rehearsal,”  and 
Other  Stories,  I<y  Tbe 

::r  V 


105 

106 

106 

107 

107 

108 
108 

109 

110 

111 

112 

113 

114 

115 

116 

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118 

119 

120 

121 

ioo 

123 


126 

127 

128 

129 

130 

130 

131 

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132 

133 

134 

135 


J36 


137  Uncle  Jack.  By  Waltei  Besaut  10 

138  Green  Pastures  and  Piccadillv. 

By  Wm.  Black .  20 

139  Romantic  Adventures  of  a  Milk¬ 

maid,  The.  By  Thomas  Hardy  10 

140  Glorious  Fortune,  A.  By  Wal¬ 

ter  Besant .  10 

141  She  Loved  Himl  By  Annie 

Thomas . . .  10 

142  Jenifer.  By  Annie  Thomas _  20 

143  One  False,  Both  Fair.  By  Jolm 

B.  Harwood . . . 20 

144  Promises  of  Marriage.  By  Emile 

Gaboriau . 10 


145  “  Storm-Beaten  God  and  The 

Man.  By  Robert  Buchanan.  20 

146  Love  Finds  the  Way,  and  Other 

Stories.  By  Walter  Besaut 


and  James  Rice . 10 

147  Rachel  Ray.  By  Anthouj"  Troll¬ 

ope . 20 

148  Thorns  and  Orange-Blossoms. 

By  Charlotte  M,  Braeme,  au¬ 
thor  of  “  Dora  Thorne  ” .  10 

149  Captain’s  Daughter,  The.  Froip 

the  Russian  of  Pushkin .  10 

150  For  Himself  Alone.  By  T.  W. 

Speight... . . .  10 

151  Ducie  Diamonds,  The.  By  C. 

Blatherwick. .  10 

152  Uncommercial  Traveler,  The. 

By  Charles  Dickens .  20 

153  Golden  Calf,  The.  By  Miss  M. 

E.  Braddon .  20 

154  Annan  Water.  By  Robert  Buch¬ 

anan .  20 

155  Lad}’  Muriel’s  Secret.  By  Jean 

Middlemas . 20 

156  “  For  a  Dream’s  Sake.”  By  Mrs. 

Herbert  Martin . 20 

157  Milly’s  Hero.  By  F.  VV.  Robin.son  20 

158  Starling,  The.  By  Norman 

Maclcod.  D.D..... .  10 

159  Captain  Norton’s  Diary,  and 

A  Moment  of  Madness.  By 
Florence  Man-yat . . .  10 

160  Her  Gentle  Deeds.  By  Sarah 

Tytler . 10 

161  Lady  of  Lyons,  The.  Founded 

on  the  Play  of  that  title  bj’ 
Lord  Lytton . *.  10 

162  Eugene  Aram.  By  Sir  E.  Bulwer 

Lj’ttou . 20 

1G3  Winifred  Power.  By  Joyce  Dar¬ 
rell  .  20 

164  Leila ;  or,  The  Siege  of  Grenada. 

By  Bui  wer  Lytton .  10 

165  History  of  Henry  Esmond.  The. 

By  Vvilliam  M.  Thackeray .. .  20 

166  Moonshine  and  Marguerites. 

By  “The  Duchess” .  10 

167  Heart  and  Science.  By  Wdlkie 

Collins .  20 

168  No  Thorouglifare.  By  Dickens 

.  and  Collins . . 10 

169  Haunted  Man,  The.  By  Chavleg 

Dickens . '  . .  .  10 


170  A  Great  Treason.  By  STprv 
Hoppus.  Eirsi- ^ 


4 


THE  SEASIDE  LIBRARY— Pockf/i-  Edition. 


170  A  Great  Treason.  By  Mary 

floppus.  Second  half .  20 

171  Fortune’s  Wheel.  By  “  The 

Duchess  ” . 10 

172  “  Golden  Girls.”  By  Alan  Muir  20 

173  Foreigners,  The.  By  Eleanor  C. 

Price . 20 

174  Under  a  Ban.  By  Mrs.  Lod^e.  20 

175  Love’s  Randona  Shot.  Bj' Wilkie 

Collins .  10 

176  An  April  Day.  By  Philippa  Prit- 

tie  Jephson . 10 

177  Salem  Chapei.  By  Mrs.  Oliphant  20 

178  More  Leaves  from  the  Journal 

of  a  Life  in  the  Highlands. 

By  Queen  Victoria .  10 

179  Little  Make-Believe.  By  B.  L. 

Farjeon .  10 

180  Round  the  Galley  Fire.  By  W'^. 

Clark  Russell .  10 

181  New  Abelard,  The.  By  Robert 

Buchanan . 10 

182  Millionaire,  The .  20 

183  Old  Contrairy,  and  Other  Sto¬ 

ries.  By  Florence  Marryat..  10 

184  Thirlby  Hall.  By  W.  E.  Norris  20 

185  Dita.  By  Lady  Margaret  Ma- 

jendie .  10 

186  Canon’s  Ward,  The.  By  James 

Payn . 90 

187  Midnight  Sun,  The.  ByFi-edidka 

Bremer . .  10 

188  Idonea.  By  Anne  Beale . 20 


190  Romance  of  a  Biack  Veil.  By 

Charlotte  M.  Braeme,  author 
ot  “Dora  Thorne” .  10 

191  Harry  Lorrequer.  By  Charles 

Lever . 20 

192  At  the  World’s  Mercy.  By  F. 

Warden . . .  10 

193  Rosary  Folk,  The.  By  G.  Man- 

ville  Fenn .  10 

194  “So  Near,  and  Yet  So  Far!” 

Bj'  Alison .  10 

195  “  Way  of  the  World,  The.”  By 

David  Christie  Murray. _ _  20 

196  Hidden  Perils.  Mary  Cecil  Hay  20 

197  For  Her  Dear  Sake.  By  Mary 

Cecil  Hay . .  20 

198  Husband’s  Story,  A .  10 

199  Fisher  Village,  The.  By  Anne 

Beale . ’ .  10 

200  An  Old  Man’s  Love,  By  Anthony 

Trollope .  10 

201  Monastery,  The.  By  Sir  Walter 

Scott .  20 

102  Abbot,  The.  Sequel  to  “  The 
Monastery.”  By  Sir  Walter 

Scott . 20 

90S  John  Bull  and  His  Island.  By 
Max  O’Rell . 10 

204  Vixen.  By  Miss  M.  E.  Braddon  20 

205  Minister’s  Wife,  The.  By  Mrs. 

Oliphant . 30 

806  Picture,  The,  and  J.ack  of  All 


Trades.  Charles  Reacie.  .•  10  ‘ 


Pretty  Miss  Neville.  By  B,  M. 

Croker . 20 

Ghost  of  Charlotte  Cray,  The, 
and  Other  Stories.  By  Flor¬ 
ence  Marryat . 10 

John  Holdsworth,  Chief  Mate. 

By  W.  Clark  Russell .  10 

Readiana:  Comments  on  Cur¬ 
rent  Events.  By  Chas.  Reade  10 
Octoroon,  The.  By  Miss  M.  E. 

Braddon .  10 

Charles  O'Malley,  the  Irish 
Dragoon.  By  Charles  Lever. 

First  half . 20 

Charles  O’Mai  W,  the  Irish 
Dragoon.  By  Charles  Lever. 

Second  half . 20 

Terrible  Temptation,  A.  By 

Chas.  Reade . 20 

Put  Yourself  in  His  Place.  By 

Charles  Reade .  20 

Not  Like  Other  Girls.  By  Rosa 

Nouchette  Carey. .  . . .  20 

Foul  Play.  By  Charles  Reade.  20 
Man  She  Cared  For,  The.  By 

F.  W.  Robinson . 20 

Agnes  Sorel.  By  G.  P.  R.  James  20 
Lady  Clare ;  or.  The  Master  of 
the  Forges.  From  the  French 

of  Georges  Ohnet .  10 

Which  Loved  Him  Best?  By 
Charlotte  M.  Braeme,  author 

of  “Dora  Thorne  ” .  10 

Cornin’ Thro’ the  Rye.  By  Helen 

B.  Mathers . 20 

Sun-Maid,  The.  By  Miss  Grant  20 
Sailor’s  Sweetheart,  A.  By  W. 

Clark  Russell .  20 

Arundel  Motto,  The,  By  Mary 

Cecil  Hay .  20 

Giant’s  Robe,  The.  By  F,  Anstey  20 

Friendship.  By  “Ouida” .  20 

Nancy.  By  Rhoda  Broughton .  20 
Princess  Napraxine.  “Ouida”  20 
Maid,  Wife,  or  Widow?  By 

Mrs.  Alexander .  10 

Dorothy  Forster.  By  W^alter 

Besant .  20 

Griffith  Gaunt;  or.  Jealousy. 

By  Charles  Reade . .  20 

Love  and  Money;  or,  A  Peril¬ 
ous  Secret.  By  Chas.  Reade .  10 
“  I  Say  No ;”  or.  The  Love-Let¬ 
ter  Answered.  By  Wilkie  Col¬ 
lins .  20 

Barbara;  or.  Splendid  Misery. 

By  Miss  M,  E.  Braddon . 20 

“  It  is  Never  Too  Late  to  Mend.” 

By  Charles  Reade . 20 

Which  Shall  It  Be?  By  Mrs. 

Alexander .  20 

Repented  at  Leisure.  By  Char¬ 
iot  te  M.  Braeme,  author  of 

“Dora  Tliorne” . 20 

Pascarel.  By  “Ouida” . 90 

Signa.  By  “Ouida” . 20 

Called  Back.  By  Hugh  Conway  10 
Baby’s  Grandmother,  The. 

Hsi  B"  alf ord ..*»  ..•..tt 


207 

208 

209 

210 

211 

212 

212/ 

213 

214 

215 

216 

217 

218 

219 

220 

221 

222 

223 

224 

225 

226 

227 

228 

229 

230 

231 

232 

233 

234 

235 

236 

237 

238 

239 

240 

241 


THE  SEASIDE  LIBRARY— Pocket  Edition. 


5 


24*  Two  Orphans,  The.  63^  D’En- 

nery . . .  . .  10 

243  Tom  Burke  of  “Ours.”  By- 
Charles  Lever.  First  half...  20 

243  Tom  Burke  of  “Ours.”  By- 

Charles  Lever.  Second  half.  20 

244  Great  Mistake.  A.  By  the  author 

of  “Cherry” .  20 

245  Miss  Tommy-.  By  Miss  Mulock  10 

246  Fatal  Dower,  A.  By  the  Author 

of  “  His  Wedded  Wife ”  ....  20 

247  Armourer’s  Prentices,  The.  By- 

Charlotte  M.  Yon^e .  10 

248  House  on  the  Marsh,  The.  By 

F.  Warden . . .  10 

249  “  Prince  Charlie's  Daughter.” 

By-  Charlotte  M.  Brae  me,  au¬ 
thor  of  “  Dora  Thorne  .  10 

250  Sunshine  and  Roses ;  or,  Diana’s 

Discipline.  By  Charlotte  M. 
Braeme,  author  of  “Dora 
Thorne” . 10 

251  Daughter  of  the  Stars,  The.  and 

Other  Tales.  By'  Hugh  Con¬ 
way,  author  of  “  Called 
Back  ” .  10 

252  Sinless  Secret,  A.  By  “  Rita  ”  10 
2.53  Amazon,  The.  By  Carl  Vosmaer  10 

254  Wife’s  Secret,  The.,  and  Fair  but 

False.  Charlotte  M.  Brae.aie, 
author  of  “  Dora  Thorne  ”...  10 

255  Mystery,  The.  By  Mrs.  Henry 

Wood . 20 

256  Mr.  Smith  :  A  Part  of  His  Life. 

ByL.  B.  Walford .  20 

257  Bey-ond  Recall.  By  Adeline  Ser¬ 

geant.  . . .  10 

258  Cousins.  ByL.  B.  Walford....  20 

259  Bride  of  Monte-Cristo,  The.  A 

Sequel  to  “  The  Count  of 
Monte-Cristo.”  By  Alexan¬ 
der  Dumas .  10 

260  Proper  Pride.  By  B.  M.  Croker  10 

261  Pair  Maid,  A.  By  F.  W.  Robin¬ 

son  .  20 

262  Count  of  Monte-Cristo,  The. 

By  Alexander  Dumas.  Part  I  20 
262  CoTint  of  Monte-Cristo.  The. 

By  Alexander  Dumas.  Part  II  20 
268  An  Ishmaelite.  By  Miss  M.  E. 

Braddon .  20 

264  Pi6douche,  a  French  Detective. 

By  Fortune  Du  Boisgobey...  10 

265  Judith  Shakespeare:  Her  Love 

Affairs  and  Other  Advent¬ 
ures.  By  William  Black _ 20 

266  Water-Babies,  The.  A  Fairy 

Tale  for  a  Land-Baby.  By  the 
Rev.  Charles  Kingsley.  _  10 

267  Laurel  Vane;  or.  The  Girls’ 

Conspiracy.  By  Mrs.  Alex. 
McVeigh  Miller .  "20 

268  Lady  Gay’s  Pride;  or.  The  Mi¬ 

ser’s  Treasure.  By  Mrs.  Alex. 
McVeigh  Miller .  20 

269  Lancaster’s  Choice.  By  Mrg. 

Alex.  McVeigh  Miller.. . 20 

270  Wandering  Jew,  The.  By  Eu¬ 

gene  Sue.  Part  1. . . . .  20 


270  Wandering  Jew-,  The.  By  Eu¬ 

gene  Sue.  Part  II .  20 

271  My  scenes  of  Paris,  The.  By  Eu¬ 

gene  Sue.  Parti . 20 

271  Mysteries  of  Paris,  The.  By  Eu¬ 

gene  Sue.  Part  II . 20 

272  Little  Savage,  The.  By  Captain 

Marryat .  10 

273  Love  and  Mii-age:  or.  The  Wait¬ 

ing  on  an  Island.  By  M. 
Betham-Ed  wards. . . .  10 

274  Alice,  Grand  Duchess  of  Hesse, 

Pi  incess  of  Great  Britain  and 
Ireland.  Biographical  Sketch 
and  Letters .  10 

275  Three  Brides,  The.  By  Char¬ 

lotte  M.  Yonge .  10 

276  Under  the  Lilies  and  Roses. 

By  Florence  Marryat  (Mrs. 
Francis  Lean) .  10 

277  Surgeon’s  Daughters,  The,  by 

Mrs.  Henry'  Wood.  A  Man  of 


Hi.s  Word,  by  W.  E.  Norris. . .  10 

278  For  Life  and  Love.  By  Alison.  10 

279  Little  Goldie:  A  Story  of  Wom¬ 

an’s  Love.  By  Mrs.  Sumner 


Hayden .  20 

280  Omnia  Vanitas.  A  Tale  of  So¬ 

ciety.  By  Mrs.  Forrester _  10 

281  Squire’s  Legacv,  The.  By  Mary 

Cecil  Hay...' .  20 

282  Donal  Grant.  By  George  Mac¬ 

Donald  .  20 

283  Sin  of  a  Lifetime,  The.  By 

Charlotte  M.  Braeme,  author 
of  “  Dora  Thorne  ” .  10 

284  Doris.  By  “  The  Duchess  ” _  10 

285  Gambler’s  Wife,  The .  20 

286  Deldee;  or.  The  Ii-on  Hand.  By 

F.  Warden .  20 

287  At  War  With  Herself.  By  Char¬ 

lotte  M.  Braeme,  author  of 

“  Dora  Thorne  ” .  10 

923  At  War  With  Herself.  By  Char¬ 
lotte  M.  Braeme.  (Large type 
editiorf) .  20 

288  From  Gloom  to  Sunlight;  or 

Frorii  Out  the  Gloom.  By 
Charlotte  M.  Braeme,  author 

of  “Dora  Thorne” .  10 

955  From  Gloom  to  Sunlight;  or, 
From  Out  the  Gloom.  By 
Charlotte  M.  Braeme.  (Large 
type  edition) .  20 

289  John  Bull’s  Neighbor  in  Her 

True  Light.  By  a  “Brutal 
Saxon  ” . 10 

290  Nora’s  Love  Test.  By  Mary 

'  Cecil  Hay . .  26 

291  Love’s  Warfare.  By  Charlotte 

,M.  Braeme,  author  of  “Dora 
Thorne  ” .  10 

292  Golden  Heart.  A.  By'  Charlotte 

M.  Braeme,  author  of  “  Dora 

Thorne” .  16 

298  Shadow-  of  a  Sin,  The.  By  Char¬ 
lotte  M.  Braeme,  author  of 
“  Dora  Thorne  ” . . , . .  16 


6 


THE  SEASIDE  LIDK ARY— Pocket  Editioi^. 


948  Shadow  of  a  Sin,  'I’he.  By  Char¬ 
lotte  M.  Braeine.  (Laige  type 
edition) . 

294  Hilda;  or,  The  False  Vow.  By 

Charlotte  M.  Braeme,  author 

of  “  Dora  Thorne  ” . 

928  Hilda;  or,  The  False  Vow.  By 
Charlotte  M.  Braeine.  (Large 
type  edition) . 

295  Woman’s  War,  A.  By  Char¬ 

lotte  M.  Braeme,  author  of 
“Dora  Thorne”  . 

952  Woman’s  War,  A.  By  Charlotte 

M.  Braeme.  (Large  type  edi¬ 
tion)  . 

296  Rose  in  Thorns,  A.  By  Char¬ 

lotte  M.  Braeme,  author  of 
“Dora  Thorne” . 

297  Hilary’s  Folly;  or.  Her  Mar¬ 

riage  Vow.  By  Charlotte  M. 
Braeme,  author  of  “Dora 
Thorne” . 

953  Hilary’s  Folly;  or.  Her  Mar¬ 

riage  Vow.  By  Charlotte  M. 
Braeme.  (Large  type  edition) 

298  Mitchelhurst  Place.  By  Marga¬ 

ret  Veley . 

299  Fatal  Lilies,  The.  By  Charlotte 

M.  Braeme,  author  of  “  Dora 
Thorne”  . 

300  A  Gilded  Sin,  and  A  Bridge  of 

Love.  By  Charlotte  M. 
Braeme.  author  of  "  Dora 
Thorne  ” . 

301  Dark  Days.  By  Hugh  Conway 

302  Blatchford  Bequest,  The.  By 

Hugh  Conway ,  author  of 

“  Called  Back  ” . 

803  Ingledew  House.  By  Charlotte 
M.  Braeme,  author  of  “Dora 
Thorne  ” . 

304  In  Cupid’s  Net.  By  Charlotte 

M.  Braeme,  author  of  “  Dora 
Thorne  ” . 

305  Dead  Heart,  A.  By  Charlotte 

M.  Braeme,  author  of  “  Dora 
Thorne  ” .  . 

306  Golden  Dawn,  A.  By  Charlotte 

M.  Braeme,  author  of  “  Dora 
Thorne  ” . 

307  Two  Kisses.  By  Charlotte  M. 

Braeme,  author  of  “  Dora 
Thorne” . 

308  Beyond  Pardon.  C.  M.  Braeme 

309  Pathfinder,  The.  By  J.  Feni- 

more  Cooper . 

310  Prairie,  The.  By  J.  Fenimore 

Cooper . . . 

311  Two  Years  Before  the  Mast. 

By  R.  H.  Dana,  Jr . 

312  Week  in  Killarney,  A.  By  “  The 

Duchess  ” . 

313  Lover’s  Creed,  The.  By  Mrs. 

Cashel-Hoey . 

314  Peril.  By  Jessie  Fothergi  11  ... 
815  Mi.stletoe  Bough.  The.  Edited 

by  Mifss  M.  E.  Braddon . 


316  Sworn  to  Silence;  or.  Aline 

Rodney’s  Secret.  By  Mrs. 
Alex.  McVeigh  Miller . 20 

317  By  Mead  and  Stream.  By  ChaSj 

Gibbon .  20 

318  Pioneers,  The ;  or.  The  Sources 

of  the  Susquehanna.  By  J. 
Fenimore  Cooper . 20 

319  Face  to  Face :  A  Fact  in  Seven 

Fables.  By  R.  E.  Francillon.  10 

320  Bit  of  Human  Nature,  A.  By 

David  Christie  Murray .  10 

321  Prodigals,  The:  And  Their  In¬ 

heritance.  By  Mrs.  Oliphant.  10 

322  Woman’s  Love-Story,  A.  By 

Charlotte  M.  Braeme,  author 
of  “  Dora  Thorne  ” .  10 

323  Willful  Maid,  A.  By  Charlotte 

M.  Braeme,  author  of  “  Dora 
Thorne” .  20 

324  In  Luck  at  Last.  By  Walter 

Besant .  10 

325  Portent,  The.  By  George  Mac¬ 

donald .  10 

326  Phantastes.  A  Faerie  Romance 

for  Men  and  Women,  By 
George  Macdonald .  10 

327  Raymond’s  Atonement.  (From 

the  German  of  E.  Werner.) 

By  Christina  Tyrrell . 20 

328  Babiole,  the  Pretty  Milliner. 

(Translated  from  the  French 
of  Fortune  Du  Boisgobey.) 
First  half . 20 

328  Babiole,  the  Pretty  Milliner. 

(Translated  from  the  French 
of  Fortune  Du  Boisgobey.) 
Second  half . 26 

329  Polish  Jew,  The.  (Translated 

from  the  French  by  Caroline 
A.  Merighi.)  By  Erckmann 
Chatrian . . .  10 

330  May  Blossom :  or.  Between  Two 

Loves.  By  Margaret  Lee _ 20 

331  Gerald.  By  Eleanor  C.  Price..  20 

332  Judith  Wynne.  By  author  of 

“  Lady  Lovelace  ” . 20 

333  Frank  Fairlegh:  or.  Scenes 

Fiom  the  Life  of  a  Private 
Pupil.  By  Frank  E.  Smedley  20 

334  Marriage  of  Convenience,  A. 

By  Harriett  Jay .  10 

335  White  Witch,  'J'he.  A  Novel. . .  20 

336  Philistia.  By  Cecil  Power . 20 

337  Memoirs  and  Resolutions  of 

Adam  Graeme  of  Mossgray, 
including  some  Chronicles  of 
the  Borough  of  Fendie.  By 
Mrs.  Oliphant .  20 

338  Family  Difficulty,  The.  By  Sa¬ 

rah  Doudney .  10 

339  Mrs.  Vereker’s  Courier  Maid. 

By  Mrs.  Alexander .  10 

340  Under  Which  King?  By  Comp- 

tou  Reade .  20 

341  Madolin  Rivers:  or.  The  Little 

Beauty  of  Red  Oak  Seminary. 

By  Laura  Jean  Libbey .  20 

342  Baby,  The.  By  “  The  Duchess  ”  1C 


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343  Talk  of  the  Town,  The.  By 

James  Payn . . 

344  “Wearinfi:  of  the  Green,  The.” 

,  By  Basil . . . 

I45  Madam.  By  Mrs  Oliphant _ 

346  Tumbledown  B’'arm.  By  Alan 

,  Muir . . . . . . 

347  As  Avon  Flows.  By  Henry  Scott 

Vince . 

348  From  Post  to  Finish.  A  Racing: 

Romance.  By  Hawley  Smart 

849  Two  Admirals,  The.  A  Tale  of 

the  Sea.  By  J.  Feuimoi’e 
Cooper  . . . 

850  Diana  of  the  Crossways.  By 

Georg:e  Meredith . 

361  House  on  the  Moor,  The.  By 
Mrs.  Oliphant . 

352  At  Any  Cost.  By  Edw.  Garrett 

353  Black  Dwarf,  The.  By  Sir 

•  Walter  Scott . . . 

354  Lottery  of  Life,  The.  A  Story 

of  New  York  Twenty  Years 
Ag:o.  By  John  Brougham  .. 

355  That  Terrible  Man.  By  W.  E. 

Norris . . . . 

356  Good  Hater,  A.  By  Frederick 

Boyle . 

357  John.  By  Mrs.  Oliphant . 

358  Within  the  Clasp.  By  J.  Ber¬ 

wick  Harwood . 

3.59  Water- Witch,  The.  By  J.  Feni- 
more  Cooper . 

360  Ropes  of  Sand.  By  R.  E.  Francil- 

lon . . 

361  Red  Rover,  The.  A  Tale  of  the 

Sea.  By  J.  Fenimore  Cooper 

362  Bride  of  Lammermoor,  The. 

By  Sir  Walter  Scott . 

363  Surgeon’s  Daughter,  The.  By 

Sir  Walter  Scott . 

364  Castle  Dangerous.  By  Sir  Wal¬ 

ter  Scott . 

365  George  Christy;  or.  The' Fort¬ 

unes  of  a  Minstrel.  By  Tony 

Pastor. . 

866  Mysterious  Hunter,  The;  or, 
The  Man  of  Death.  By  Capt. 
L.  C.  Carleton . 

367  Tie  and  Trick.  By  Hawley  Smart 

368  Southern  Star,  The ;  or,  The  Dia¬ 

mond  Land.  By  Jules  Verne 
869  Miss  Bretherton.  ByMrs.  Hum- 
phiy  Ward  . 

370  Lucy  Crofton.  By  Mrs.  Oliphant 
871  Margaret  Maitland.  By  Mrs. 
»  Oliphant . 

372  Phyllis’  Probation.  By  the  au¬ 

thor  of  ”  His  Wedded  Wife  ” . 

373  Wing-and-Wing.  By  J.  Feni- 

.  more  Cooper . 

8T4  Dead  Man’s  Secret,  The ;  or,  The 
Adventures  of  a  Medical  Stu¬ 
dent.  By  Dr.  Jupiter  Paeon . . 
m  Ride  to  Ki)iva,  A.  By  Captain 
Fred  Burnaby,  of  the  Royal 
Horse  Guards .  . 


376  Crime  of  Christmas  Day,  The. 

By  the  author  of  “  My  Ducats 
and  My  Daughter  ” . 16 

377  Magdalen  Hepburn :  A  Story  of 

the  Scottish  Reformation.  By 
Mrs.  Oliphant . 20 

378  Homeward  Bound;  or.  The 

Chase.  By  J.  F.  Cooper....  20 

379  Home  as  Found.  (Sequel  to 

“  Homeward  Bound.”)  ByJ. 
Fenimore  Cooper .  20 

380  Wyandotte;  or.  The  Hutted 

Knoll.  ByJ.  Fenimore  Cooper  20 

381  Red  Cardinal,  The.  By  Frances 

Elliot .  10 

382  Three  Sisters;  or.  Sketches  of 

a  Highly  Original  Family. 

By  Elsa  D’Esterre-Keeling. . .  10 

383  Introduced  to  Society.  By  Ham¬ 

ilton  Aide  .  10 

384  On  Horseback  Through  Asia 

Minor.  By  Captain  Fred  Bur- 
nabj' .  20 

385  Headsman,  The;  or,  The  Ab- 

baye  des  Vignerons.  By  J. 
Fenimore  Cooper..., .  20 

386  Led  Astx’ay;  or,  “La  Petite 

Comtesse.”  Octave  Feuillet.  10 

387  Secret  of  the  Clift's,  The.  By 


Charlotte  French .  29 

388  Addie’s  Husband  ;  or.  Through 

Clouds  to  Sunshine.  By  the 
author  of  “  Love  or  Lands?”.  19 

389  Ichabod.  A  Portrait.  By  Bertha 

Thomas .  10 

390  Mildred  Trevanion.  Bj'^  "The 

Duchess  ” .  10 

391  Heart  of  Mid-Lothian,  The.  By 

Sir  Walter  Scott .  20 

392  Peveril  of  the  Peak.  By  Sir 

Walter  Scott .  20 

393  Pirate,  The.  By  Sir  Walter  Scott  20 

394  Bravo,  The.  By  J.  Fenimore 

Cooper . .  .  20 

395  Archipelago  on  Fire,  The.  By 

Jules  Verne .  10 

396  Robert  Ord’s  Atonement.  By 

Rosa  Nouchette  Carey . 20 

397  Lionel  Lincoln ;  or,  The  Leaguer 

of  Bbstpn.  By  J.  Fenimore 
Cooper ! .  20 

398  Matt;  A  Tale  of  a  Caravan. 

By  Robert  Buchanan .  10 

399  Miss  Brown.  By  Vernon  Lee. .  20 

400  Wept  of  Wish-Ton-Wish,  The. 

By  J.  Fenimore  Cooper .  29 


401  Waverley.  By  Sir  Walter  Scott  20 

402  Lilliesleaf :  or,  Passages  in  the 

Life  of  Mrs.  Margaret  Mait¬ 
land  of  Sunnyside.  By  Mrs. 
Oliphant .  20 

403  An  English  Squire.  By  C.  R. 

Coleridge .  20 

404  In  Dui’ance  Vile,  and  Other 

Stoi’ies.  B}^  “  The  Duchess  ”  10 

405  My  Friends  and  I.  Edited  by 

Julian  Sturgis . 10 

406  Merchant’s  Clerk,  The.  By  Sam¬ 

uel  Warren . . If 


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THE  SEASTHE  LltinAnY— Pocket  EdttiOH. 


407  Tylney  Hall.  By  Thomas  Hood  20 

408  Lester’s  Secret.  By  Mary  Cecil 

Hay . 20 

409  Roy’s  Wife.  By  G.  J.  Whyte- 

Melville . • .  20 

410  Old  Lady  Mary.  By  Mrs.  Oli- 

phant .  10 

411  Bitter  Atonement,  A.  By  Char¬ 

lotte  M.  Braeme,  author  of 
“  Dora  Thorne  ” .  20 

412  Some  One  Else.  By  B.  M.  Croker  20 

413  Afloat  and  Ashore.  By  J.  Fen- 

imore  Cooper .  20 

414  Miles  Wallingford.  (Sequel  to 

“  Afloat  and  Ashore.”)  By  J. 
Fenimore  Oooper .  20 

415  Ways  of  the  Hour,  The.  By  J. 

Fenimore  Cooper . 20 

416  Jack  Tier ;  or,  The  Florida  Reef. 

By  J.  Fenimore  Cooper. . 20 

417  Fair  Maid  of  Perth,  The;  or, 

St.  Valentine’s  Day.  By  Sir 
Walter  Scott .  20 

418  St.  Ronan’s  Well.  By  Sir  Walter 

Scott .  20 

419  Chainbearer,  The;  or,  The  Lit- 

tlepage  Manuscripts.  By  J. 
Fenimore  Cooper .  20 

420  Satanstoe;  or,  Tlie  Littlepage 

Manuscripts.  By  J.  Fenimore 
Cooper .  20 

421  Redskins,  The;  or,  Indian  and 

Injin.  Being  the  conclusion 
of  the  Littlepage  Manuscripts. 

By  J.  Fenimore  Cooper .  20 

422  Precaution.  By  J.  Fenimore 

Cooper .  20 

423  Sea  Lions,  The;  or.  The  Lost 

Sealers.  By  J.  F.  Cooper. ...  20 

424  Mercedes  of  Castile;  or,  Tne 

V oyage  to  Cathay.  By  J.  Fen¬ 
imore  Cooper .  20 

425  Oak-Openings,  The;  or,  The 

Bee-Hunter.  By  J.  Fenimore 
Cooper . 20 

426  Venus’s  Doves.  By  Ida  Ash¬ 

worth  Taylor . . . 20 

427  Remarkable  History  of  Sir 

Thomas  Upmore,  Bart.,  M.P., 
The.  Formerly  known  as 
“Tommy  Upmore.”  By  R. 

D.  Blackmore .  20 

428  Z6ro:  A  Story  of  Monte-Carlo. 

By  Mrs.  Campbell-Praed .  10 

429  Boulderstone ;  or,  New  Men  and 

Old  Populations.  By  W.  Sime  10 

430  Bitter  Reckoning,  A.  By  the  au¬ 

thor  of  “  By  Crooked  Paths  ”  10 

431  Monikins,  The.  By  J.  Fenimore 

Cooper .  20 

432  Witch’s  Head,  The.  By  H. 

Rider  Haggard . 20 

433  My  Sister  Kate.  By  Charlotte 

M.  Braeme,  author  of  “  Dora 
Thorne” .  10 

434  Wyllard’s  Weird.  By  Miss  M.  E, 

'  Braddon . . . 20 

435  Klytia:  A  Story  of  Heidelberg 

Castile.  By  George  Taylor...  20 


436  Stella.  By  Fanny  Lewald . 2(Ji 

437  Life  and  Adventures  of  Martin 

Chuzzlewit.  By  Charles  Dick¬ 
ens.  First  half .  20 

437  Life  and  Adventures  of  Martin 

Chuzzlewit.  By  Charles  Dick¬ 
ens.  Second  half . 30 

438  Found  Out.  By  Helen  B. 

Mathers .  10 

439  Great  Expectations.  By  Charles 

Dickens . 21 

440  Mrs.  Lirriper’s  Lodgings.  By 

Charles  Dickens .  li 

441  Sea  Change,  A.  By  Flora  L. 

Shaw .  30 

442  Ranthorpe.  By  George  Henry 

IjGWGs  2^ 

443  Bachelor  of  the  Albany,  The. ..  10 

444  Heart  of  Jane  Warner,  The.  By 

Florence  Marryat .  20 

445  Shadow  of  a  Crime,  The.  By 

Hall  Caine . . . 20 

446  Dame  Durden.  By  “  Rita  ”...  20 

447  American  Notes.  By  Charles 

Dickens . . .  20 

448  Pictures  From  Italy,  and  The 

Mudfog  Papers,  &c.  By  Chas. 
Dickens .  20 

449  Peeress  and  Player.  By  Flor¬ 

ence  Marryat .  20 

450  Godfrey  Helstone.  By  (leorgi- 

ana  M.  Craik . 20 

451  Market  Harborough,  and  Inside 

the  Bar.  G.  J.  Whyte-Melville  20 

452  In  the  West  Countrie.  By  May 

Crommelin .  20 

453  Lottery  Ticket,  The.  By  F.  Du 

Boisgobey  . 20 

454  Mystery  of  Edwin  Drood,  The. 

By  Chas.  Dickens . 29 

455  Lazarus  in  London.  By  F.  W. 

Robinson .  20 

456  Sketches  by  Boz.  Illustrative 

of  Every-day  Life  and  Every¬ 
day  People.  By  Charles  Dick¬ 
ens  . 20 

457  Russians  at  the  Gates  of  Herat, 

The.  By  Charles  Marvin.  ...  10 

458  Week  of  Passion,  A;  or.  The 

Dilemma  of  Mr.  George  Bar¬ 
ton  the  Younger.  By  Edward 
Jenkins . ...30 

459  Woman’s  Temptation,  A.  By 

Charlotte  M.  Braeme.  (Large 

type  edition) .  20 

951  Woman’s  Temptation,  A.  By 
Charlotte  M.  Braeme,  author 
of  “  Dora  Thorne  ” .  10 

460  Under  a  Shadow.  By  Char¬ 

lotte  M.  Braeme,  author  of 
“Dora  Thorne” . 30 

461  His  Wedded  Wife.  By  author 

of  “  A  Fatal  Dower  ” .  30 

462  Alice’s  Adventures  in  Wonder¬ 

land.  By  Lewis  Carroll.  With 
forty  -  two  illustrations  by 
John  Tenni«l . 30 

463  Redgauntlet.  By  Sir  Walter 

Scott. . . . . .  c  . . .  SC 


THE  SEASIDE  LIBRARY— Pocket  Edition, 


9 


464  Newcomes,  The.  By  William  491  Society  in  London.  By  a  For- 
Makepeace  Thackeray.  Part  eign  Resident .  10 

I  .  20  492  Mignon ;  or,  Booties’  Baby.  By 

464  Newcomes,  The.  By  William  J.  S.  Winter.  Illustrated —  10 

Makepeace  Thackeray.  Part  4J8  Colonel  Enderby’s  Wife.  By 

II  .  . 20  Lucas  Malet .  20 

465  Earl’s  Atonement,  The.  By  494  Maiden  All  Forlorn,  A,  and  Bar- 

Charlotte  M.  Braeme,  author  bara.  By  “  The  Duchess  ”...  10 

of  “  Dora  Thorne  ”... . .  20  495  Mount  Royal.  By  Miss  M.  E. 

466  Between  Two  Loves.  By  Char-  <  Braddon .  20 

lotte  M.  Braeme,  author  of  496  Only  a  Woman.  Edited  by  Miss 
“Dora  Thorne” .  20  M.  E.  Braddon . 20 

467  Struggle  for  a  Ring,  A.  By  Char-  497  Lady’s  Mile,  The.  By  Miss  M. 

lotte  M.  Braeme,  author  of  E.  Braddon'. . . .  20 

“Dora  Thorne” .  20  498  Only  a  Clod.  By  Miss  M.  E. 

468  Fortunes,  Good  and  Bad,  of  a  Braddon . . .  20 

Sewing-Girl,  The.  By  Char-  499  Cloven  Foot,  The.  By  Miss  M. 

lotte  M.  Stanley . 10  E.  Braddon .  20 

468  L^y  Darner’s  S^ret:  or,  A  500  Adrian  Vidal,  by  W.  E.  Norris  20 
Guiding  Star.  By  Charlotte  501  Mr.  Butler’s  Ward.  By  F.  Mabel 
M  Braeme,  author  of  Dora  Robinson .  20 

.i-yn  TP  T7'*ii - 502  Carriston’s  Gift.  By  Hugh 

470  Evel^’s  Folly.  By  Charlotte  Conway,  author  of  “Called 

M.  Braeme,  author  of  “Dora  Back”.. .  10 

Thom©  SO  I 

471  Thrown  on  the  Worid.  By  Char-  Tinted  Venus,  The.  By  F.  Anstey  10 

.  lotte  M.  Braeme,  author  of  p04  Curly:  An  Actor’s  Story.  By 

“  Dora  Thorne  ”. . .  20  ^  John  Coleman.  Illustrated.  10 

472  Wise  Women  of  Inverness,  Society  of  London,  The.  By 

The  BvWm  Black  10  Count  Paul  Vasili .  10 

473  Lost  Son,  A.  By  Mary  LinskilL  10  506  Lady  Lovelace  By  the  author 

474  Serapis.  By  George  Ebers .  20  Wvnne  . .  20 

475  Prima  Donna’s  Husband,  The.  20  507  Chi-bnides  of  the  Canongate, 

Bv  F  Du  Bois2-obev  .  ^nd  Other  Stories.  By  Sir 

476  Between  Two  Sins;  or.  Married  - '  tvt’  '  ‘ 

in  Haste.  By  Chariotte  M.  508  U^ioly  Wish  The.  By  Mrs. 

Braeme,  author  of  “Dora  enn  ’  o’ 'm-' V' 'ir ' "  ’ 

Thorne  ” .  10  509  Nell  Haflfenden.  By  Tighe  Hop- 

477  Affinities!  A  Romance  of  To-  p-m  V  ’ ‘ . .V - i  ^ 

day.  By  Mrs.  Cainpbell-Praed  10  510  Mad  Love,  A.  By  the  author  of 

478  Diavola;  or.  Nobody’s  Daugh-  TiT-' ‘ '  V/ 

ter.  By  Miss  M.  E.  BraddSn.  511  Strange  World,  A.  By  Miss  M. 
Paj.(;  j' . OQ  E.  Braddon . 20 

478  Diavola;  or.  Nobody’s  Daugh-  512  Waters  of  Hercules,  The . 20 

ter.  By  Miss  M.  E.  Braddon.  513  Helen  Whitney’s  Wedding,  and 
Partll . 20  Other  Tales.  By  Mrs.  Henry 

479  Louisa.  By  Katharine  S.  Mac-  Wood .  10 

quoid . .  20  514  Mystery  of  Jessy  Page,  The, 

480  Married  in  Haste.  Edited  by  and  Other  Tales.  By  Mrs. 

Miss  M.  E.  Braddon . 20  Henry  Wood .  10 

481  House  That  Jack  Built,  The.  515  Sir  Jasper’s  Tenant.  By  Miss 

By  Alison . . .  10  M.  E.  Braddon . 20 

482  Vagrant  Wife,  A.  By  F.  Warden  20  516  Put  Asunder;  or.  Lady  Castle- 

483  Betwixt  My  Love  and  Me.  By  maine’s  Divorce.  By  Char- 

the  author  of  “A  Golden  Bar”  10  lotte  M.  Braeme,  author  of 

484  Although  He  Was  a  Lord,  and  “Dora  Thorne” .  20 

Other  Tales.  Mrs.  Forrester.  10  517  Passive  Crime,  A,  and  Other 

485  Tinted  Vapours.  By  J.  Maclaren  Stories.  By  “  The  Duchess  ”  10 

Cobban . . . . .  10  518  Hidden  Sin,  The.  A  Novel . 20 

486  Dick’s  Sweetheart.  By  “The  519  James  Gordon’s  Wife,  A  Novel  ^ 

Duchess  ”... .  20  520  She’s  All  the  World  to  Me.  By 

487  Put  to  the  Test.  Edited  by  Hall  Caine . 10 

Miss  M.  E.  Braddon .  20  521  Entangled.  By  E.  Fairfax 

488  Joshua  Haggard’s  Daughter.  B.vrrue . 2fl 

By  Miss  M.  E.  Braddon .  20  522  Zig-Zag,  the  Clo\yn;  or.  The. 

489  Rupert  Godwin.  By  Miss  M.  E.  Steel  Gauntlets.  -  Bj'  F.  Du 

Braddon . 20  Boisgobey . 2C 

480  Second  Life,  A.  By  Mrs.  Alex-  528  Consequences  of  a  Duel,  The. 
ander .  —  20 1  By  F,  Du  Boisgobey  — ,  .  2ft 


10 


THE  SEiSIDE  LIBRARY— Pocket  EomoN. 


524  Strangers  and  Pilgrims.  By 

Miss  M.  E.  Braddon...- . 20 

625  Paul  Vargas,  and  Other  Stories. 

By  Hugh  Conway,  author  of 
“Called  Back” .  10 

526  Madame  De  Presnel.  By  E. 

Frances  Poynter .  20 

527  Days  of  My  Life.  The.  By  Mrs. 

Oliphant .  20 

628  At  His  Gates.  By  Mrs.  Oliphant  20 

629  Doctor’s  Wife,  The.  By  Miss  M. 

E.  Braddon . 20 

530  Pair  of  Blue  E}' es,  A.  By  Thom¬ 
as  Hardy . 20 


531  Prime  Minister,  Tlie.  By  An¬ 
thony  Trollope.  First  Half ..  20 

531  Prime  Minister,  The.  By  An¬ 

thony  Trollope.  Second  Half  20 

532  Arden  Court.  Barbara  Graham  20 

533  Hazel  Kirke.  By  Marie  Walsh  20 

534  Jack.  By  Alphonse  Daudet _ 20 

535  Henrietta’s  Wish:  or,  Domi¬ 


neering.  By  Charlotte  M. 
Yonge .  10 

536  Dissolving  Views.  By  Mrs.  An- 

dretv  Lang .  10 

537  Piccadilly.  Laurence  Oliphant  10 

538  Fair  Country  Maid,  A.  By  E. 

Fairfax  Byrrne . 20 

539  Silvermead.  By  Jean  Middle- 

mas . 20 

540  At  a  High  Price.  By  E.  Werner  20 

541  “  As  it  Fell  Upon  a  Day,”  by 

“The  Duchess,”  and  Uncle 

Jack,  by  Walter  Besant .  10 

642  Fenton’s  Quest.  By  Miss  M.  E. 

Braddon . 20 

543  Family  Affair,  A.  By  Hugh 

Conway,  author  of  “  Called 
Back” . 20 

544  Cut  by  the  County:  or,  Grace 

Darnel.  By  Miss  M.  E.  Brad¬ 
don  . 10 

545  Vida’s  Story.  By  author  of 

“  Guilty  Without  Crime  ” .  10 

546  Mrs.  Keith’s  Crime .  10 

547  Coquette’s  Conquest,  A.  By 

Basil . 20 

548  Fatal  Marriage,  A,  and  The 

Shadow  in  the  Corner.  By 
Miss  M.  E.  Braddon .  10 

649  Dudley  Carleon ;  or.  The  Broth¬ 

er’s  Secret,  and  George  Caul¬ 
field’s  Journey.  By  Miss  M.  E. 
Braddon .  10 

650  Struck  Down.  By  Hawley  Smart  10 

551  Barbara  Heathcote’s  Trial.  By 

Rosa  N.  Carey.  2  parts,  each  20 

552  Hostages  to  Fortune.  By  Miss 

M.  E.  Braddon .  20 

553  Birds  of  Prey.  By  Miss  M.  E. 

Braddon .  20 

554  Charlotte’s  Inheritance.  (A  Se¬ 

quel  to  “  Birds  of  Prey.”)  B}'^ 
Miss  M.  E.  Braddon . . 20 


655  Cara  Roma.  By  Miss  Grant _ 20 

656  Prince  of  Darkness,  A.  By  F. 

« 1 1 1  5  y  «  <  •  ?  «  V  '  30 


To  the  Bitter  End.  By  Miss  M. 

E.  Braddon . 20 

Poverty  Corner.  By  G.  Manville 

Fenn . 20 

Taken  at  the  Flood.  By  Miss 

M.  E.  Braddon . 20 

Asphodel.  By  Miss  M.  E.  Brad- . 

don .  20 

Just  As  I  Am :  or,  A  Living  Lie. 

By  Miss  M.  E  Braddon . 20 

Lewis  Arundel;  or,  The  Rail¬ 
road  of  Life.  By  Frank  E. 

Smedley . . 20 

Two  Sides  of  the  Shield,  The. 

By  Charlotte  M.  Yonge . 20 


At  Say.  By  Mrs.  Alexander. . .  10 
No  Medium.  B.v  Annie  Thomas  10 
Royal  Highlanders,  The :  or, 
The  Black  Watch  in  Egypt. 

By  Janies  Grant .  . 20 

Dead  Men’s  Shoes.  By  Miss  M. 


E.  Braddon . 20 

Perpetual  Curate,  The.  By  Mrs. 

Oliphant . .  20 

Harry  Muir.  By  Mrs.  Oliphant  20 
John  Marchmont’s  Legacy.  By 

Miss  M.  E.  Braddon .  20 

Paul  Civrew’s  Story.  By  Alice 
Comyns  Carr .  10 


Healey.  By  Jessie  Fothergill..- 20 


Love’s  Harvest.  B.  L.  Farjeon  20 
Nabob,  The:  A  Story  of  Paris¬ 
ian  Life  and  Manners.  By  Al¬ 
phonse  Daudet . 20 

Finger  of  Fate,  The.  By  Cap¬ 
tain  Mayne  Reid .  20 

Her  Martyrdom.  By  Charlotte 
M.  Braeme,  author  of  “  Dora 

Thorne” . 20 

In  Peril  and  Privation.  By 
James  Payn .  10 


Mathias  Sandorf.  By  Jules 

Verne.  (Illustrated.)  Part  I.  10 
Mathias  Sandorf.  By  Jules 

Verne.  (Illustrated.)  Part  II  10 
Mathias  Sandorf.  By  Jules 

Verne.  (Illustrated.)  Part  IH  10 
Flower  of  Doom,  The,  and 


Other  Stories.  By  M.  Betham- 

Ed  wards .  10 

Red  Route,  The.  By  William 

Sime. . 20 

Betrothed,  The.  (I  Promessi 
Sposi,)  Alessandro  Manzoni.  20 
Lucia,  Hugh  and  Another.  By 

Mrs.  J.  H.  Needed . 20 

Victory  Deane.  By  Cecil  Griffith  20 

Mixed  Motives .  10 

Drawn  Game.  A.  By  Basil _ 20 

“  For  Percival.”  By  Margaret 

Veley . 20 

Parson  o’  Dumford,  The.  By 

G.  Manville  Fenn . 20 

Cherry.  By  the  author  of  “A 

Great  Mistake” .  10 

Luck  of  tlie  Darrells,  The.  By 

James  Payn . 20 

Courting  of  Marj'  Smith,  The. 


W.  Robinson-,-,, t,,,.  39 


557 

558 

559 

560 

561 

562 

563 

564 

565 

566 

567 

568 

569 

570 

571 

572 

573 

574 

575 

576 

•577 

578 

578 

578 

579 

580 

581/ 

582 

583 

584 

585 

586 

587 

588 

583 

590 


THE  SEASIDE  LIBRAET— Pocket  Edition. 


n 


- - y 

591  Queen  of  Hearts,  The.  By  AVil- 


kie  Collins . . . 20 

502  Strange  Voyage,  A.  By  W. 
Clark  Russell . 20 

593  Berna  Boyle.  By  Mrs.  J.  H. 

Riddell . 20 

594  Doctor  Jacob.  By  Miss  Betham- 

Ed  wards . 20 

595  North  Country  Maid,  A.  By 

Mrs.  H.  Lovett  Cameron . 20 

696  My  Ducats  and  My  Daughter. 

By  the  author  of  “  The  Crime 
of  Christmas  Day” . 20 

597  Haco  the  Dreamer.  By  William 

Sime .  10 

598  Corinna.  By  “Rita” .  10 

599  Lancelot  Ward,  M.P.  By  George 

Temple .  10 

600  Houp-La.  By  John  Strange 

Winter.  (Illustrated) .  10 

601  Slings  and  Arrows,  and  other 

Stories.  By  Hugh  Conway, 
author  of  “  Called  Back  ”...  10 


602  Camiola:  A  Girl  With  a  Fortune. 

By  Justin  McCarthy .  20 

603  Agnes.  By  Mrs.  Oliphant.  First 

Half . 20 

603  Agnes.  By  Mrs.  Oliphant.  Sec¬ 

ond  Half .  20 

604  Innocent:  A  Tale  of  Modern 

Life.  By  Mrs.  Oliphant.  First 
Half .  20 

604  Innocent:  A  Tale  of  Modern 

Life.  By  Mrs.  Oliphant.  Sec¬ 
ond  Half .  20 

605  Ombra.  By  Mrs.  Oliphant . 20 

606  Mrs.  Hollyer,  By  Georgiana  M. 

Craik .  20 

607  Self-Doomed.  By  B.  L.  Farjeon  10 

608  For  Lilias.  By  Rosa  J^oucliette 

Carey.  In  Two  Parts,  each . .  20 

609  Dark  House,  The :  A  Knot  Un¬ 


raveled.  By  G.  Manville  Fenn  10 

610  Story  of  Dorothy  Grape,  The, 

and  Other  Tales.  By  Mrs. 
Henry  Wood .  10 

611  Babylon.  By  Cecil  Power .  20 

612  My  Wife's  Niece.  By  the  author 

of  “Doctor  Edith  Romney  ”.  20 

613  Ghost’s  Touch,  The.  By  Wilkie 

Collins .  10 

614  No.  99.  By  Arthur  Griffiths...  10 

615  Mary  Anerley.  By  R.  D.  Black- 

more . 20 

616  Sacred  Nugget,  The.  By  B.  L. 

Farjeon .  20 

617  Like  Dian’s  Kiss.  By  “  Rita  ”.  20 

618  Mistletoe  Bough,  The.  Christ¬ 

mas,  1885.  Edited  by  Miss  M. 

E.  Braddon . 20 

619  Joy;  or,  The  Light  of  Cold- 

Home  Ford.  By  May  Crom- 
melin .  .  .  20 

620  Between  the  Heather  and  the 

Northern  Sea.  B3^  M.  Linskill  20 

621  Warden,  The.  By  Anthony 

Trollope .  10 

I5J2  Harry  Heathcote  of  Gangoil.  By 


Apthoay  TroUope.  . , , . , , , . , . ,  10 


623  My  Lady’s  Money.  By  Wilkie 

Collins .  10 

624  Primus  in  Indis.  By  M.  J.  Col- 

quhoun . 10 

625  Erema;  or.  My  Father’s  Sin. 

By  R.  D.  Blackmore . 20 

626  Fair  Mj'^ery,  A.  By  Charlotte 

M.  Braeme,  author  of  “  Dora 
Thorne  ” .  20 

627  White  Heather.  By  Wm.  Blank  20 

628  Wedded  Hands.  By  the  author 

of  “  My  Lady’s  Folly  ” .  20 

629  Cripps,  the  Carrier.  By  R.  D. 

Blackmore .  20 

680  Cradock  Nowell.  By  R.  D. 

Blackmore.  First  half . 20 

630  Cradock  Nowell.  By  R.  D. 

Blackmore.  Second  half _ 20 

631  Christowell.  By  R.  D.  Blackmore  20 

632  Clara  A’aughan.  ByR.D.  Black- 

more . 20 

633  Maid  of  Sker,  The.  By  R.  D. 

Blackmore.  1st  half .  20 

633  Maid  of  Sker,  The.  By  R.  D. 

Blackmore.  2d  half . 20 

634  Unforeseen,  The.  By  Alice 

O’Hanlon . 20 

635  Murder  or  Manslaughter?  By 

Helen  B.  Mathers .  10 

636  Alice  Lorraine.  By  R.  D.  Black- 

more.  1st  half . • . 20 

636  Alice  Lorraine.  By  R.  D.  Black- 

more.  2d  half .  20 

637  What’s  His  Offence?  By  author 

of  “  The  Two  Miss  Flemings  ”  20 

638  In  Quarters  with  the  25th  (The 

Black  Horse)  Dragoons.  By 


J.  S.  AVinter .  10 

639  Othmar.  “Ouida.”  2  parts, each  20 

640  Nuttie’s  Father.  By  Charlotte 

M.  Yonge .  20 

641  Rabbi’s  Spell,  The.  By  Stuart 

C.  Cumberland .  10 

642  Britta.  By  George  Temple .  10 

643  Sketch-book  of  Geoffrey  Cray¬ 

on,  G«nt,  The.  By  Washing¬ 
ton  Irving . ' .  20 

644  Girton  Girl,  A.  By  Mrs.  Annie 

Edwards .  20 

645  Mrs.  Smith  of  Longmains.  By 

Rhoda  Broughton .  10 

646  Master  of  the  Mine,  The.  By 

Robert  Buchanan .  20 

647  Goblin  Gold.  By  May  Crom- 

melin . . .  10 

648  Angel  of  the  Bells,  The.  By  F. 

Du  Boisgobey.  - .  .  .  20 

649  Cradle  and  Spade.  By  William 

Sime .  20 

650  Alice:  or.  The  Mysteries.  (A  Se¬ 

quel  to  “  Ernest  Maltravers.”) 


By  Sir  E.  Bulwer  Lytton _ 20 

651  “  Self  or  Bearer.”  By  Walter 

Besant .  10 

652  Lady  AVith  the  Rubies,  The.  By 

E.  Marlitt . 20 

653  Barren  Title,  A.  T.  AV.  Speight  10 

654  “  Us.”  An  Old-fashioned  Story. 

By  Mrs,  Moleswortti, , ,  -  •  •  •  1(1 


13 


THE  SEABIDE  LIBR  lUY- Pockkt  Euttion 


S55  Open  Door,  The.  By  Mrs  01  i- 

pOant .  10 

856  Golden  Flood,  The.  By  K.  E. 

Francillon  and  Wm.  Senior..  10 
8.57  Christmas  Angel.  By  B.  L.  Far- 

jeon . .  10 

658  Histoiy  of  a  Week,  The.  By 

Mrs.  L.  B.  Walford .  10 

659  Waif  of  the  “Cynthia,”  The. 

By  J  ules  Verne . 20 

660  Scottish  Chiefs,  The.  By  Miss 

Jane  Porter.  1st  half . .  20 

660  Scottish  Chiefs,  The.  By  Miss 

Jane  Porter.  2d  half .  20 

661  Rainbow  G  old.  B}"  David  Chris¬ 

tie  Murray .  20 

662  Mystery  of  All.an  Grale,  The.  By 

Isabella  Fy vie  Mayo .  20 

663  Handy  Andy.  By  Samuel  Lover  20 

664  Rory  O  More.  B'  Samuel  Lover  20 

665  Dove  in  the  Eagle's  Nest,  The. 

By  Charlotte  M.  Yonge .  20 

666  My  Young  Alcides.  By  Char¬ 

lotte  M.  Yonge .  20 

667  Golden  Lion  of  Granpere,  The. 

By  Anthony  Trollope .  20 

868  Half-Way.  An  Anglo-French 

Romance .  20 

669  Philosophj"  of  Wliist,  The.  By 

William  Pole .  20 

670  Rose  and  the  Ring,  The.  By 

Vv .  M.  Tliackeray.  Illustrated  10 

071  Don  Gesualdo.  By“Ouida.”..  10 
672  In  Maremma.  By  “  Ouida.”  1st 

half .  20 

672  In  Maremma  By  “  Ouida.”  2d 

half . 20 

673  Story  of  a  Sin.  By  Helen  B. 

Mathers .  20 

674  First  Pei-son  Singular.  By  Da¬ 

vid  Christie  Murray .  20 

675  Mrs.  Dymoud.  By  Miss  Thacke- 

’  ray .  20 

676  Child’s  History  of  England,  A. 

By  Charles  Dickens . 20 

677  Griselda.  By  the  author  of  “  A 

Woman’s  Love-Story” . 20 

678  Dorothy’s  Venture.  By  Mary 

Cecil  Hay .  20 

679  Where  Two  Ways  Meet.  By 

Sarah  Doudney .  10 

680  Past  and  Loose.  By  Arthur 

Griffiths .  20 

681  Singer’s  Story,  A.  By  May 

Laftan .  10 

682  In  the  ]\Iiddle  Watch.  By  VV. 

Clark  Russell .  20 

683  Bachelor  Vicar  of  Newforth, 

The.  By  Mrs.  J.  Harcourt-Roe  20 

684  Last  Days  at  Apswich . 10 

685  England  under  Gladstone.  1880 

—1885.  By  Justin  H.  McCar¬ 
thy,  M.P .  20 

866  Strange  Case  of  Dr.  Jekyll  and 
Mr.  Hyde.  By  Robert  Louis 

Stevenson .  10 

687  Cmintry  Gentleman,  A.  By  Mrs. 
Oliphant.  ....  . . .  20 


688  Man  of  Honor,  A.  By  John 


Strange  Winter.  Illustrated  10 

689  Heir  Presumptive,  Tiie.  By 

Florence  Marryat .  20 

690  For  From  the  IMadding  Crowd. 

By  Thojtias  Hardy .  20 

6i).^  Valentine  Strange.  B3'  David 

Christie  Murray .  30 

692  Mikado,  The.  and  other  Comic 

Operas.  Written  by  W.  S. 
Gilbert.  Composed  by  Arthur 
Sullivan .  20 

693  Felix  Holt,  the  Radical.  By 

George  Eliot . . 20 

394  John  Maidmeut.  By  Julian 
Sturgis . 20 

695  Hearts;  Queen,  Knave,  and 

Deuce.  By  David  Christie 
Murray .  20 

696  Thaddeus  of  Warsaw.  By  Miss 

Jane  Porter . 20 

697  Pretty  Jailer,  The  By  F.  Du 

Boisgobey.  1st  half .  20 

697  Pretty  Jailer,  The.  By  F.  Dn 

Boisgobey.  2d  half .  20 

698  Life’s  Atonement,  A.  By  David 

Christie  Murray . . . 20 


699  Sculptor’s  Daughter,  The.  By 
F.  Du  Boisgobey.  1st  half ...  20 

699  Sculptor’s  Daughter,  The.  By 

F.  Du  Boisgobey.  2d  half _  20 

700  Ralph  the  Heir.  By  Anthony 


Trollope.  First  half .  20 

700  Ralph  the  Heir.  By  Anthony 

Trollope.  Second  half . 20 


701  Woman  in  White,  The.  Wilkie 

Collins.  Illustrated.  1st  half  20 

701  Woman  in  White,  The.  Wilkie 

Collins.  Illustrated.  2d  half  20 

702  Mau  and  Wife.  By  Wilkie  Col¬ 

lins.  First  half .  20 

702  Mau  and  Wife.  By  Wilkie  Col¬ 

lins.  Second  half .  20 

703  House  Divided  Against  Itself, 

A.  By  Mrs.  Oliphant . 20 

704  Prince  Otto.  By  R.  L.  Steven¬ 

son  . 10 

705  AVoman  I  Loved,  The,  and  the 

Woman  Who  Loved  Me.  By 
Isa  Blagden . 10 

706  Crimson  Stain,  A.  By  Annie 

Bradshaw . 10 

707  Silas  Marner:  The  Weaver  of 

Raveloe.  By  George  Eliot. . .  10 

708  Ormond.  By  Maria.  Edgeworth  20 

709  Zeuooia;  oi\  Tiie  Fall  of  Pal¬ 


myra.  By  William  Ware. 
First  half.  . .  20 

709  Zenobia;  or.  T'he  Fall  of  Pal- 

myia.  By  AVhlliam  Ware. 
Second  half .  10 

710  Greatest  Heiress  in  England, 

The.  By  Mrs.  Oliphant.......  20 

711  Cardinal  Sin,  A.  By  Hugh  Con¬ 

way,  author  of  “  Called 
Back  ” .  20 

712  For  Maimie’s  Sake.  By  Grant 

Alien .  . . 20 


tHE  SEASIDE  LIBRARY-Dooket  Edition. 


713  “  Cherry  Ripe.”  By  Helen  B. 

Mathers .  20 

714  ’Twixt  Love  and  Duty.  By 

Tighe  Hopkins...  .  20 

715  I  Have  Lived  and  Loved.  By 

Mrs.  Forrester . 20 

716  Victor  and  Vanquished.  By 

Mary  Cecil  Hay . 20 

717  Beau  Tancrede;  or,  the  Mar¬ 

riage  Verdict.  By  Alexander 
Dumas . 20 

718  Unfairly  Won.  By  Mrs.  Power 

O’Donoghue . 20 

719  Childe  Harold’s  Pilgrimage. 

By  Lord  Byron .  .  10 

720  Paul  Clifford.  By  Sir  E.  Bulwer 

Lytton,  Bart . 20 

721  Dolores.  By  Mrs.  Forrester...  20 

722  What’s  Mine’s  Mine.  By  George 

Macdonald . 20 

723  Mauleverer’s  Millions.  By  T. 

Wemyss  Reid .  20 

724  My  Lord  and  My  Lady.  By 

3Ii-s.  Forrester . 20 

725  My  Ten  Years’  Imprisonment. 

By  Silvio  Pellico . 10 

726  My  Hero.  By  Mrs.  Forrester. .  20 

727  P’air  Women.  By  Mrs.  Forre.«ter  20 

728  Janet’s  Repentance.  By  George 

Eliot . 10 

729  Miguon.  By  Mrs.  Forrester...  20 

730  Atitobiography  of  Benjamin 

Franklin,  The .  10 

731  Bayou  Bride,  The.  By  Mrs. 

Maiy  E.  Bryan . 20 

732  From  Olympus  to  Hades.  By 

Mrs.  Forrester .  20 

733  Lady  Branksmere.  By  “  The 

Duchess” . . 20 

734  Viva.  By  Mrs.  Forrester . 20 

735  Until  the  Day  Breaks.  By 

Emily  Spender .  20 

736  Roy  and  Viola.  Mrs.  Forrester  20 

737  Aunt  Rachel.  By  David  Christie 

Murray .  10 

738  In  the  Golden  Days.  By  Edna 

Lyali . .' . 20 

739  Caged  Lion,  The.  By  Charlotte 

M,  Yonge . 20 

740  Rhona.  By  Mi's.  Forrester . 20 


741  Heiress,  of  Hilldrop,  The;  or, 
The  Romance  of  a  Young 


Girl.  By  Charlotte  M.  Braeme, 
author  of  •*  Dora  Thorne  ”...  20 

742  Love  and  Life.  By  Cliarlotte 

M.  Yonge . .  20 

743  Jack’s  Courtship.  By  W.  Clark 

Russell.  1st  half .  20 

743  Jack’s  Courtship.  By  W.  Clark 

Russell.  2d  half .  20 

7'44  Diana  Carew ;  or,  For  a  Wom¬ 
an's  Sake.  By  Mrs.  Foi’rester  20 

745  For  Another’s  Siti ;  or,  A  Strug¬ 

gle  for  Love.  By  Charlotte  M 
Braeme,  author  of  “  Dora 
Thorne  ” .  20 

746  Cavalry  Life;  or.  Sketches  and 

Stories  in  Bairacks  and  Out. 

By  J.  S.  Winter . 20 


Our  Sensation  Novel.  Edited 
by  Justin  H.  McCarthy,  M.P.  10 
Hurrish :  A  Stud.y.  By  the 


Hon.  Emily  Lawless,. . 20 

Lord  Vanecourt’s  Daughter.  By 
Mabel  Collins .  20 


An  Old  Story  of  My  Farming 
Days.  Fritz  Reuter.  1st  half  20 
An  Old  Story  of  My  Farming 
Da,ys.  F'ritz  Reuter.  2d  half  20 
Great  Voyages  and  Great  Navi¬ 
gators.  Jules  Verne.  1st  half  20 
Great  Voyages  and  Great  Navi¬ 
gators.  Jules  Verne.  2d  half  20 
Jackanapes,  and  Other  Stories. 

By  Juliana  Horatio  Ewing, . .  10 
King  Solomon’s  Mines.  By  H. 


Rider  Haggard . .  20 

How  to  be  Happy  Though  Mar¬ 
ried.  By  a  Graduate  in  the 

University  of  Matrimony _ 20 

Margeiy  Daw.  A  Novel . 20 

Strange  Adventures  of  Captain 
Dangerous,  The.  By  George 

Augustus  Sala .  20 

Love’s  Martyr.  By  Laurence 

Alma  Tadema. . . .’ . .  10 

“Good-bye,  Sweetheart!”  By 

Rhoda  Broughton .  20 

In  Shallow  .Waters.  By  Annie 

Armitt . 20- 

Aurelian ;  or.  Rome  in  the  Third 
Century.  By  William  Ware.  20 
Will  Weatherhelm.  By  William 

H.  G.  Kingston . 20 

Impressions  of  Theophrastus 

Such.  By  George  Eliot .  10 

Midshipman,  The,  Mai-maduke 
Merry.  Wm.  H.  G.  Kingston.  20 
Evil  Genius,  The.  By  Wilkie 

Collins .  20 

Not  Wisely,  But  Too  Well.  By 

Rhoda  Broughton . 20 

No.  XIII. ;  or,  The  Story  of  the 
Lost  Vestal.  Emma  Marshall  10 
Joan.  By  Rhoda  Broughton. .  20 
Red  as  a  Rose  is  She.  By  Rhoda 

Broughton .  20 

Cometli  Up  as  a  Flower.  By 

Rhoda  Broughton . 20 

Castle  of  Otranto,  The,  By 

Horace  Walpole .  10 

Mental  Struggle,  A.  By  “The 

Duchess” .  20 

Gascoyne,  the  Sandal-Wood 
Trader.  By  R.  M.  Ballantyne  20 
Mark  of  Cain,  The.  By  Andrew 

Lang .  10 

Life  and  Travels  of  Mungo 

Park,  The .  10 

Three  Clerks.  The.  By  Anthony 

Trollope . 20 

P6re  Goriot.  By  H.  De  Balzac  20 
Voyages  and  Travels  of  Sir 
John  Maundcville,  Kt.,  The..  10 
Society’s  Verdict.  B}’'  tfie  au¬ 
thor  of  “  My  Marriage  ” .  20 

Doom  1  An  Atlantic  Episode. 

By  Justin  H.  McCarthy,  M.P.  10 


747 

748 

749 

750 

750 

751 

751 

752 

753 

754 

755 

756 

757 

758 

759 

760 

761 

762 

763 

764 

765 

766 

767 

768 

769 

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772 

773 

774 

775 

776 

777 

778 

779 


14 


THE  SEASIDE  LIBRAKY— Pocket  Edition. 


780  Rare  Pale  Margaret.  By  the  au¬ 

thor  of  “  What’s  His  Offence?”  20 

781  Secret  Dispatch,  The.  By  James 


Grant . • .  10 

782  Closed  Door,  The.  By  F.  Du 
Boisgobey.  1st  half .  20 

782  Closed  Door,  The.  By  F.  Du 

Boisgobey.  2d  half . 20 

783  Chantry  House.  By  Charlotte 

M.  Yonge . 20 

784  Two  Miss  Flemings,  The.  By  au¬ 

thor  of  ”  What’s  His  Offence?”  20 

785  Haunted  Chamber,  The.  By 

“  The  Duchess  ” .  10 


786  Ethel  Mildmay’s  Follies.  By 

author  of  “  Petite’s  Romance  ”  20 

787  Court  Royal.  A  Story  of  Cross 

Currents.  By  S.  Baring-Gould  20 

788  Absentee,  The.  An  Irish  Story. 

By  Maria  Edgeworth . 20 

789  Through  the  Looking-Glass, 

and  What  Alice  Found  There. 

By  Lewis  Canroll.  With  fifty 
illustrations  by  John  Tenniel.  20 


790  Chaplet  of  Pearls,  The ;  or.  The 
White  and  Black  Ribaumonc. 
Charlotte  M.  Yonge.  1st  half  20 

790  Chaplet  of  Pearls,  The ;  or.  The 

White  and  Black  Ribaumont. 
Charlotte  M.  Yonge.  2d  half  20 

791  Mayor  of  Casterbridge,  The.  By 


Thomas  Hardy .  20 

792  Set  in  Diamonds.  By  Charlotte 

M.  Braeme,  author  of  “  Dora 
Thorne” . 90 

793  Vivian  Grey.  By  the  Rt.  Hon. 

Benjamin  Disraeli,  Earl  of 
Beaconsfield.  First  half . 20 

793  Vivian  Grey.  By  the  Rt.  Hon. 

Benjamin  Disraeli,  Earl  of 
Beaconsfield.  Second  half. . .  20 

794  Beaton’s  Bargain.  By  Mrs.  Al¬ 

exander . 20 

795  Sam’s  Sweetheart.  By  Helen 

B.  Mathers . 20 

796  In  a  Grass  Country.  By  Mrs. 

H.  Lovett  Cameron . 20 


797  Look  Before  You  Leap.  By 

Mrs.  Alexander . 20 

798  Fashion  of  this  World,  The.  By 

Helen  B.  Mathers .  10 

799  My  Lady  Green  Sleeves.  By 

Helen  B.  Mathers  . . . 20 


800  Hopes  and  Fears;  or.  Scenes 
from  the  Life  of  a  Spinster. 
Charlotte  M.  Yonge.  1st  half  20 
800  Hopes  and  Fears;  or,  Scenes 
from  the  Life  of  a  Spinster. 
Charlotte  M.  Yonge.  2d  half  20 


801  She  Stoops  to  Conquer,  and 

The  Good-Natured  Man.  By 
Ohver  Goldsmith .  10 

802  Stern  Chase,  A.  By  Mrs.  Cash el- 

Hoey  .  20 

803  Major  Frank.  By  A.  L.  G.  Bos- 

boom-Toussaint . 20 

804  Living  or  Dead.  By  Hugh  Con¬ 

way,  author  of  “Called  Back  ”20 


805  Freres,  The.  By  Mrs.  Alex¬ 
ander.  1st  half .  20 

805  Freres,  The.  By  Mrs.  Alex¬ 

ander.  2d  half.. .  20 

806  Her  Dearest  Foe.  By  Mrs.  Alex¬ 

ander.  First  half . 20 

806  Her  Dearest  Foe.  By  Mrs.  Alex¬ 

ander.  Second  half .  20 

807  If  Love  Be  Love.  D.  Cecil  Gibbs  20 

808  King  Arthur.  Not  a  Love  Story. 

By  Miss  Mulock .  20 

809  Witness  My  Hand.  By  the  au¬ 

thor  of  “  Lady  Gwendolen’s 
Tryst  ” .  10 

810  Secret  of  Her  IJfe,  The.  By  Ed¬ 

ward  Jenkins . . .'. ..  .  20 

811  Head  Station,  The.  By  Mrs. 

Campbell-Praed .  20 

812  No  Saint.  By  Adeline  Sergeant  20 

813  Army  Society.  Life  in  a  Garri¬ 

son  Town.  By  John  Strange 
Winter .  10 

814  Heritage  of  Langdale,  The.  By 

Mrs.  Alexander . 20 

815  Ralph  Wilton’s  Weird.  By  Mrs. 

Alexander .  10 

816  Rogues  and  Vagabonds.  By 

George  R.  Sims,  author  of 

817  Stabbed  iri  the  Dark.  By  Mrs. 

E.  Lynn  Linton .  10 

818  Pluck.  By  John  Strange  Winter  10 

819  Fallen  Idol,  A.  By  F.  Anstey. . .  20 

820  Doris’s  Fortune.  By  Florence 

Warden . 20 

821  W^orld  Between  Them,  The.  By 

Charlotte  M.  Braeme,  author 
of  “Dora  Thorne.” .  20 

822  Passion  Flower,  A.  A  Novel...  20 

823  Heir  of  the  Ages,  The.  By  James 

Payn . 20 

824  Her  Own  Doing.  W.  E.  Norris  10 

825  Master  Passion,  The.  By  Flor¬ 

ence  Marryat . 20 

826  Cynic  Fortune.  By  p.  Christie 

Murray . 20 

827  Effie  Ogilvie.  By  Mrs.  Oliphant  20 

828  Prettiest  Woman  in  Warsaw, 

The.  By  Mabel  Collins .  2C 


829  Actor’s  Ward,  The.  By  the  au¬ 

thor  of  “  A  Fatal  Dower  ”...  20 

830  Bound  by  a  Spell.  Hugh  Con¬ 

way,  author  of  “  Called  Back”  20 

831  Pomegranate  Seed.  By  the  au¬ 

thor  of  “  The  Two  Miss  Flem¬ 
ings,”  etc . 20 

832  Kidnapped.  By  Robert  Louis 

Stevenson .  20 

833  Ticket  No.  “9672.”  By  Jules 

Verne.  First  half .  10 

833  Ticket  No.  ”  9672.”  By  Jules 

Verne.  Second  half .  10 

834  Ballroom  Repentance,  A.  By 

Mrs.  Annie  Edwards .  20 

835  Vivian  the  Beauty.  By  Mrs. 

Annie  Edwards .  20 

836  Point  of  Honor,  A.  By  Mrs.  An¬ 

nie  Edwards . . . 20 


THE  SEASIDE  LIBRARY— Pocket  Edition. 


15 


837  Vagabond  Heroine,  A.  By  Mrs. 

Anuie  Edwards . ; .  10 

838  Ought  We  to  Visit  Her?  By 

Mrs.  Annie  Edwards. . . , . 20 

839  Leah :  A  Woman  of  Fashion. 

By  Mrs.  Annie  Edwards . 20 

840  One  Thing  Needful;  or,  The 

Penalty  of  Fate.  By  Miss  M. 

E.  Braddon .  20 

841  Jet:  Her  Face  or  Her*  Fortune? 

By  Mrs.  Annie, Edwards .  10 

842  Blue-Stocking,  A.  By  Mrs.  An¬ 

nie  Edwards . 10 

843  Archie  Lovell.  By  Mrs.  Annie 

Edwards .  20 

844  Susan  Fielding.  By  Mrs.  Annie 

Edwards . 20 

846  Philip  Earnscliffe;  or,  The  Mor¬ 
als  of  May  Fair.  By  Mrs. 

Annie  Edwards .  20 

84G  Sieven  Lawrence.  By  Mrs. 

Annie  Edwards.  1st  half _ 20 

846  Steven  Lawrence.  By  Mrs. 

Annie  Edwards.  2d  half . 20 

847  Bad  to  Beat.  By  Hawley  Smart  10 

848  My  Friend  Jim.  By  W.  E.  Norris  20 

849  Wicked  Girl,  A.  Mary  Cecil  Hay  20 

850  Playwright’s  Daughter,  A.  By 


Mrs.  Annie  Edwards .  10 

851  Cry  of  Blood,  The.  By  F.  Du 

Boisgobey.  First  half. . 20 

551  Cry  of  Blood,  The.  By  F.  Du 

Boisgobey.  Second  half . 20 

852  Under  Five  Lakes;  or.  The 

Cruise  of  the  “  Destroyer.” 

By  M.  Quad . 20 

853  True  Magdalen,  A.  By  Char¬ 

lotte  M.  Braemo,  author  of 

”  Dora  Thorne  ” . 20 

854  Woman’s  Error,  A.  By  Char¬ 

lotte  M.  Braeme,  author  of 
“Dora  Thorne” .  20 

855  Dynamiter,  The.  By  Robert 

Louis  Stevenson  and  Fanny 
Van  de  Grift  Stevenson .  20 

856  New  Arabian  Nights. '  Bj'^  Rob¬ 

ert  Louis  Stevenson . 20 

857  Kildee;  or.  The  Sphinx  of  the 

Red  House.  By  Mary  E. 

Br3'an.  First  half . 20 

857  Kildee;  or,  The  Sphinx  of  the 

Red  House.  By  Mary  E. 

Bryan.  Second  half . 20 

858  Old  Ma’m’selle’s  Secret.  By  E. 

Marlitt .  20 

859  Ottilie:  An  Eighteenth  Century 

Idyl,  and  The  Prince  of  the  100 
Soups.  By  Vernon  Lee . 20 

860  Her  Loi’d  and  Master.  By  Flor¬ 

ence  Marryat . 20 

861  My  Sister  the  Actress.  By  Flor¬ 

ence  Marry  at . 20 

862  Ugly  Barrington.  By  “  The 

Duchess.” .  10 

863  “  My  Own  Child.”  By  Florence 

Marryat . 20 

864  “  No  Intentions.”  By  Florence 

Marryat. . 20 


Written  in  Fire.  By  Florence 

Marryat . . .  20 

Miss  Harrington’s  Hxisband ;  or. 
Spiders  of  Society.  By  Flor¬ 
ence  Marryat .  20 

Girls  of  Feversham,  The.  By 

Florence  Marryat . 20 

Petronel.  By  Florence  Man-yat  20 
Poison  of  Asps,  The.  By  Flor¬ 
ence  Marryat . .  10 

Out  of  His  Reckoning.  By  Flor¬ 
ence  Marryat .  10 

Bachelor’s  Blunder,  A.  By  W. 

E.  Norris .  20 

With  Cupid’s  Eyes.  B3’  Flor¬ 
ence  Marryat .  20 

Harve.st  of  Wild  Oats,  A.  By 

Florence  Marryat .  20 

House  Party,  A.  By  “  Ouida  10 

Lady  Valw'orth’s  Diamonds.  By 

“The  Duchess” .  20 

Mignon’s  Secret.  John  Strange 

Winter .  10 

Facing  the  Footlights.  By  Flor¬ 
ence  Marryat .  20 

Little  Tu’penny.  By  S.  Baring- 

Gould .  10 

Touchstone  of  Peril,  The.  By 

R.  E.  Forrest .  20 

Son  of  His  Father,  The.  By 

Mrs.  Oliphant .  20 

Mohawks.  In  Two  Parts,  each  iiO 
Children  of  Gibeon.  By  Walter 

Besant .  20 

Once  Again.  By  Mrs.  Forrester  20 
Vo.vage  to  the  Cape,  A.  By  W. 

Clark  Russell .  20 

Les  Mis6rables.  Victor  Hugo. 

Part  1 .  20 

Les  Miserables.  Victor  Hugo. 

Part  II .  20 

Les  Mis6rables.  Victor  Hugo. 

Partin . , . 20 

Ppston  Carew,  Millionaire  and 
Miser.  Mrs.  E.  Lynn  Linton  20 
Modern  Telemachus,  A.  By 

Charlotte  M.  Yonge .  20 

Treasure  Island.  Robert  Louis 

Stevenson .  10 

An  Inland  Voyage.  By  Robert 

Louis  Stevenson .  10 

Mistletoe  Bough,  The.  Christ¬ 
mas,  1886.  Edited  by  Miss  M. 

E.  Braddon .  20 

Vera  Nevill;  or.  Poor  Wisdom’s 
Chance.  By  Mrs.  H.  Lovett 

Cameron .  20 

That  Winter  Night;  or.  Love's 
Victory.  Robert  Buchanan. .  10 
Love’s  Conflict.  By  Florence 

Marryat.  First  half . .  20 

Love’s  Conflict.  By  Florence 

Marry^at.  Second  half .  20 

Doctor  Cupid.  By  Rboda 

Broughton .  20 

Star  and  a  Heart,  A.  By  Flor 

ence  Marryat .  10 

Guilty  River,  The.  By  Wilkie 
Collins . .  ...  . 20 


865 

866 

867 

868 

869 

870 

871 

872 

873 

874 

875 

876 

877 

878 

879 

880 

881 

882 

883 

884 

885 

885 

885 

886 

887 

888 

889 

890 

891 

892 

893 

893 

894 

895 

896 


THE  SEASIDE  LIBRARY— Pocket  Edition. 


16*  ’ 


897  An  ere.  ByFlorenceMarryat...  20 

898  Bulldoeraud  Butterfly,  and  Julia 

and  Her  Romeo,  by  David 
Christie  Murray,  and  Romeo 
and  Juliet,  by  William  Black.  20 


899  Little  Stepson,  A.  By  Florence 

Marryat .  10 

900  Woman’s  Wit,  By.  By  Mrs,  Al¬ 

exander . .' . 20 

901  Lucky  Disappointment,  A.  By 

Florence  Marryat .  10 

902  Poor  Gentleman,  A.  By  Mrs. 

Oliphant . 20 

903  Phyllida.  ByFlorenceMarryat  20 

904  H0I3"  Rose,  The.  By  Walter  Be- 

sant .  10 

905  Fair-Haired  Alda,  The.  ByFlor¬ 

enceMarryat . 20 

906  World  Went  Very  Well  Then, 

The.  By  Walter  Besant . 20 

907  Bright  Star  of  Life,  The.  By 

B.  L.  Farjeon . 20 

908  Willful  Young  Woman,  A . 20 

909  Nine  of  Hearts,  The.  By  B.  L. 

Farjeon .  20 

910  She:  A  History  of  Adventure. 

By  H.  Rider  Haggard .  20 


911  Golden  Bells:  A  Peal  in  Seven 

Changes!  By  R.  E.  Francillon  20 

912  Pure  Gold.  By  Mrs.  H.  Lovett 


Cameron.  Two  Parts,  each  20 

913  Silent  Shore.  The.  By  John 

Bloundelle- Burton . 20 

914  Joan  Wentworth.  By  Katha¬ 

rine  S.  Macquoid . 20 

915  That  Other  Person.  By  Mrs. 

Alfred  Hunt.  Two  Parts,  each  20 

916  Golden  Hope,  The.  By  W.  Clark 

Russell . . .  20 

917  Case  of  Reuben  Malachi,  The. 

By  H.  Sutherland  Edwards..  10 

918  Red  Band,  The.  By  F.  Du  Bois- 

gobey.  First  half . 20 

918  Red  Band,  The.  By  F.  Du  Bois- 
gobey.  Second  half .  20 


919  Locksley  Hall  Sixty  Years  Af¬ 

ter,  etc.  By  Alfred,  Lord 
Tennyson,  P.L..  D.C.L .  10 

920  Child  of  the  Revolution,  A.  By 

the  author  of  “  Mademoiselle 
Mori  ’’ .  20 

921  Late  Miss  Hollingford,  The. 

By  Rosa  Mulholland .  10 

922  Marjorie.  By  Charlotte  M. 

Braeme,  author  of  “Dora 
Thorne.”  . 20 

287  At  War  With  Herself.  By  Char¬ 


lotte  M.  Braeme,  author  of 
“Dora  Thorne” .  10 

923  At  War  With  Herself.  By  Char¬ 

lotte  M.  Braeme.  (Large  type 
edition) . 20 

924  ’Twixt  Smile  and  Tear.  Char¬ 

lotte  M.  Braeme,  author  of 
“  Dora  Thorne  ” .  20 

925  The  Outsider.  Hawley  Smart.  20 

926  Springhaven.  By  R.  D.  Black- 

more . 20 


927  Sweet  Cymbeline.  By  Cliar- 

lotte  M.  Braeme,  author  of 

“Dora Thome” .  20 

294  Hilda;  or.  The  False  Vow.  By 
Charlotte  M.  Braeme .  10 

928  Hilda;  or.  The  False  Vow.  By 

Charlotte  M.  Braeme,  author 
of  “Dora  Thorne.”  (Large 
type  edition) .  20 

929  The  Belle  of  Lynn;  or.  The 

Miller's  Daughter.  By  Char¬ 
lotte  M.  Braeme,  author  of 
“Dora  Thorne” . 20 

930  Uncle  Max.  By  Rosa  Nouchette 

Carey.  In  Two  Parts,  each..  20 

931  Lady  Diana’s  Pride.  By  Char¬ 

lotte  M.  Braeme,  author  of 
“Dora  Thorne” .  20 


932  Queenie’s  Whim.  Rosa  Nou¬ 

chette  Carey.  Two  Parts,^each  20 

933  A  Hidden  Terror.  Mary  Albert  ^ 

934  Wooed  and  Married.  Rosa  Nou¬ 

chette  Carey.  2  parts,  each. .  20 

935  Borderland.  Jessie  Fothergill.  20 

936  Nellie’s  Memories.  Rosa  Nou¬ 

chette  Carey.  3’wo  Parts,each  20 

937  Cashel  Byroms  Profession,  By 

George  Bernard  Shaw .  20 

938  Cranford.  By  Mrs.  Gaskell - 20 

939  Why  Not?  Florence  Marryat..  20 

940  The  ]\Ierry  Men,  and  Other  Tales 

and  Fables.  B/  Robert  Louis 


Stevenson .  20 

941  Jess,  By  H.  Rider  Haggard. ..  20 

942  Cash  on  Delivery.  By  F,  Du 

Boisgobey .  20 

943  Weavers  and  Weft;  or,  “  Love 

that  Hath  Us  in  His  Net.”  By 
Miss  M.  E.  Braddon,. . 20 

944  The  Professor.  By  Charlotte 

BrontS .  20 

945  The  Trumpet-Major,  Thomas 

Hardy .  20 

946  The  Dead  Secret.  By  Wilkie 

Collins .  20 

947  Publicans  and  Sinners:  or,  Lu¬ 

cius  Davoren.  By  Miss  M.  E, 
Braddon.  First  half . 20 

947  Publicans  and  Sinners;  or,  Lu¬ 

cius  Davoren.  By  Miss  M.  E. 

Braddon.  Second  half .  20 

293  The  Shadow  of  a  Sin.  By  Char¬ 
lotte  M.  Braeme,  author  of 
“  Dora  Thorne  ” . 10 

948  The  Shadow  of  a  Sin.  By  Char¬ 

lotte  M.  Braeme,  author  of 
“  Dora  Thorne.”  (Large  type 
edition) . 20 

949  Claribel’s  Love  Story;  or. 

Love’s  Hidden  Depths,  By 
Charlotte  M.  Braeme,  author 
of  “Dora  Thorne” .  20 


25  Mbs.  Geoffrey.  By  “  The  Duch¬ 
ess.”  (Large  type  edition), .,  20 
950  Mrs.  Geoffrey.  “The Duchess”  10 
459  Woman’s  Temptation,  A.  By 
Charlotte  M.  Braeme,  author 
of  “Dora  Thorne.”  (Large 
type  edition) . -  -  -  •  20 


THE  SEASIDE  LIBEARY— Pocket  Edition. 


17 


851  Woman's  Temptation,  A.  By 


Charlotte  M.  Braeme,  aufcor 
of  Dora  Thorne  ” .  10 

295  Woman’s  AV ar,  A.  By  Charlotte 
M.  Braeme,  author  of  “  Dora 
Thorne  ” . .  10 


952  Woman’s  War,  A.  By  Charlotte 
•  M.  Braeme,  author  of  “  Dora 

Thorne.”  (Large  t}’pe  edition)  20 

297  Hilary’s  Folly;  or.  Her  Mar¬ 
riage  Vow.  By  Charlotte  BI. 
Braeme,  author  of  "  Dora 
Thorne” .  10 

953  Hilary’s  Folly;  or,  Her  Blar- 

riage  Vow.  By  Charlotte  BI. 
Braeme,  author  of  “  Dora 
Thorne.”  (Large  type  edition)  20 

954  A  Girl’s  Heart.  By  the  author 

of  “Nobody’s  Darling” . 20 

2S8  From  Gloom  to  Sunlight;  or, 
From  Out  the  Gloom.  By 
Charlotte  BI.  Braeme,  author 


of  “  Dora  Thorne  ” . 10 

955  From  Gloom  to  Sunlight;  or. 

From  Out  the  Gloom.  By 
Charlotte  M.  Braeme,  author 
of  “Dora  Thorne.”  (Large 
type  edition) . . . 20 

956  Her  Johnnie.  By  Violet  Whyte  20 

957  The  Woodlauders.  By  Thomas 

Hardy .  20 

958  A  Haunted  Life;  or.  Her  Terri¬ 

ble  sin.  Charlotte  BI.  Braeme, 
author  of  “  Dora  Thorne  ”.. .  20 


959  Dawn.  By  H.  Rider  Haggard.  20 

960  Elizabeth’s  T'ortune.  By  Bertha 


Thomas .  20 

961  Wee  Wifie.  By*  Rosa  Nouchette 

Carey .  20 

962  Sabina  Zembra.  William  Black  20 
908  Worth  Winning.  By  BIrs.  H. 

Lovett  Cameron . . 20 

964  A  Struggle  for  the  Right;  or. 

Tracking  the  Truth .  20 


965  Periwinkle.  By  Arnold  Gray. .  20 

966  He,  by  the  author  of  “King 

Solomon’s  AVives”;  and  A 
Siege  Baby  and  Childliood’s 

Memories,  by  J.  S.  AVinter _  20 

237  Repented  at  Leisure.  By  Char¬ 
lotte  M.  Braeme,  author  of 
“  Doi'a  Thorne.”  (La-^ge  type 


Edition) .  20 

967  Repented  at  Leisure.  By  Char¬ 

lotte  M.  Braeme,  author  of 
“  Dora-Thorne  ” .  10 

968  Blossom  and  Fi  uit;  or,  Bla- 

dame’s  AVard.  By  the  author 
of  “Wedded  Hands” . 20 

969  The  Blystery  of  Colde  Fell ;  or. 

Not  Proven.  By  Charlotte  BI. 
Braeme,  author  of  “  Dora 
Thorne  ” . 20 

970  King  Solomon’s  AV'ives;  or.  The 

Phantom  Mines.  By  Hyder 
Ragged.  (Illustrated) . . .  20 

971  Garrison  Gossip:  Gathered  in 

Blankhampton.  John  Strange 
Winter .  20 

972  Gold  Elsie.  By  E.  Blarlitt .  20 


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LA'l'ES']’  ISSUES: 

^0.  phich;. 

669  Pole  on  Whist . 20 

432  THE  WITCH’S  HEAD.  By 

H.  Rider  Hagrgard .  20 

1000  Puck.  By  “  Ouida.”  1st  half  20 

1000  Puck.  By  “  Ouida.”  2d  half.  20 

1001  Lady  Adelaide’s  Oath;  or.  The 

Castle  s  Heir.  By  Mrs.  Henry 
Wood . 20 

1002  Marriage  at  a  Venture.  By 

Emile  Gaboriau . 20 

1003  Chandos.  By  “Ouida.”  1st 

half... . i .  20 

1003  Chandos.  By  “  Ouida.”  2d 

half .  20 

1004  Mad  Dumare.sq.  By  Florence 

Marry  at . 20 

1005  99  Dark  Street.  F.W.  Robinson  20 

1006  His  Wife’s  Judgment.  By 

Charlotte  M.  Braeme,  author 
of  “  Dora  Thorne  ”  . 20 

1007  Miss  Gascoigne.  By  Mrs.  J. 

H.  Riddell . 20 

1008  A  Thorn  in  Her  Heart.  Char¬ 

lotte  M.  Braeme,  author  of 
“Dora  Thorne” . 20 

1009  In  an  Evil  Hour,  and  Other 

Stories.  By  “  The  Duchess  ”  20 

1010  Golden  Gates.  By  Charlotte 

M.  Braeme,  author  of  “  Dora 
Thorne  ” . 20 

1011  Texar’s  Vengeance;  or,  North 

Versus  South.  Jules  Verne. 

Part  1 .  20 

1012  A  Nameless  Sin.  By  Charlotte 

M.  Braeme,  author  of  “  Dora 
Thome  ” . 20 

1013  The  Confessions  of  Gerald 

Estcourt.  Florence  Marryat.  20 

1014  A  Mad  Love.  By  Charlotte  M. 

Braeme,  author  of  “  Dora 
Thorne  ” . 20 

1015  A  Thousand  Francs  Reward. 

By  Emile  Gaboriau . 20 

1016  A  Modern  Circe.  By  “  The 

Duchess” .  20 

1017  Tricotrin.  The  Story  of  a  Waif 

and  Stray.  “Ouida.”  1st  half  20 

1017  Tricotrin.  TheStoryof  a  Waif 

and  Stray.  “  Ouida.”  2d  half  20 

1018  As  in  a  Looking-Glass.  By  F. 

C.  Philips .  20 

1019  Major  and  Minor.  By  W.  E. 

Norris.  1st  half .  20 

1019  Major  and  Minor.  By  W.  E. 

Norris.  2d  half . 20 

1020  Michael  Strogoff;  or,  The  Cou¬ 

rier  of  the  Czar.  Jules  Verne  20 

1021  The  Heir  to  Ashle}’,  and  The 

Red -Court  Farm.  By  Mrs. 

Henry  Wood . . .  20 


NO.  PRICE, 

1022  Driven  to  Bay.  By  Florence 

Marryat .  2ft 

1023  Next  of  Kin— Wanted.  By  M. 

Betham-Ed  wards . 2fl 

1024  Under  the  Storm;  or.  Stead¬ 

fast’s  Charge.  By  Charlotte 
M.  Yonge . . . 20 

1025  Daisy’s  Dilemma.  By  Mrs.  H. 

Lovett  Cameron .  20 

1026  A  Dark  Inheritance.  By  Mary 

Cecil  Hay . 20 

1028  A  Wasted  Love.  A  Novel _ 20 

1029  Armadale.  By  Wilkie  Collins. 

1st  half .  20 

1029  Armadale.  By  Wilkie  Collins. 

2d  half . 20 

1030  The  Mistress  of  Ibichstein.  By 

Fr.  Henkel . 20 

1031  Irene’s  Vow.  By  Charlotte  M. 

Braeme,  author  of  “Dora 
Thorne  ” .  20 

1032  Mignon’s  Husband.  By  John 

Strange  Winter . 20 

1033  Esther:  A  Story  for  Girls.  By 

Rosa  Nouchelte  Carey .  20 

1034  The  Silence  of  Dean  Maitland. 

By  Maxwell  Gray .  20 

1035  The  Duchess.  By  “  The  Duch- 

6SS 20 

1036  Like  and  Unlike.  By  Miss  M. 

E.  Braddon . 20 

1037  Scheherazade:  A  London 

Night's  Entertainment.  By 
Florence  Warden .  20 

1038  The  Strange  Adventures  of 
Lucy  Smith.  By  F.  C.  Philips.  20 

1039  Driver  Dallas.  B3'  John  Strange 

Winter... . 10 

1040  Clarissa’s  Ordeal.  By  the  au¬ 

thor  of  “A  Great  Mistake.” 
First  half . 20 

1040  Clarissa’s  Ordeal.  By  the  au¬ 

thor  of  “  A  Great  Mistake.” 
Second  half . 20 

1041  Social  Vicissitudes.  By  F.  C. 

Philips . 20 

1042  Lady  Grace.  Mrs.  Henrj^  Wood  20 

1043  Faust.  By  Goethe .  20 

1044  The  Frozen  Pirate.  W.  Clark 

Russell .  20 

1045  A  Lucky  Young  Woman.  By 

F.  C.  Philips . . .  20 

1046  Jessie.  By  the  author  of  “  Ad- 

die’s  Husband  ” .  20 

1047  The  Dean  and  His  Daughter 

B5'  F.  C.  Philips .  20 

1048  Jack  and  Three  Jills.  By  F. 

C.  Philips .  20 

1049  A  Tale  of  Three  Lions.  By  H. 

Rider  Haggard . 20 

Tlie  foregoing  works,  contained  in  Thic  Skasidic  Jubraiiy,  Pocket  Edition, 
are  for  sale  by  all  newsdealers,  or  will  be  sent  to  any  address,  postage  free,  ou 
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dress 

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j[>.  (1,  BoJt  fi<5i  17  to  '4'*  Vaiioewat^r  N.  Y-. 


Nachfolgende  Werke  sin  cl  in  cler 

1  Der  Kaiser  von  Prof.  G.  Ebers  20 

2  Die  Somosierra  von  R.  Wald- 

rniiller .  10 

3  DasGelieimnissderalten Mam- 

sell.  Roman  von  E.  Marlitt.  10 

4  Quisisana  von.Fr.  Spiel haf'en  10 

5  Gai  teulaubeu  -  Bliitheu  von  E. 


Werner . 20 

6  Dje  Hand  der  Nemesis  von  E. 

A.  Konig .  20 

T  Amtmaun’s  Magd  v.  E  Marlitt  20 

8  Vineta  von  E.  Werner .  20 

9  Auf  der  Riimmiugsburg  von  M. 

Widdern .  10 

10  Das  Haas  Hillel  von  Max  Ring  20 

11  Gliickauf!  von  E.  Werner .  10 

12  Goldelse  von'E.  Marlitt. .......  20 

13  Vater  und  Sohn  von  F.  Lewald  10 

14  Die  Wiirger  von  Paris  von  C. 

Vacauo .  20 

15  Der  Diamantscbleifer  von  Ro- 

senthalBonin . . 10 

16  Ingo  und  Ingraban  von  Gustav 

Freytag  . .  . 20 

17  Eine  Frage  von  Georg  Ebers. .  10 

18  Im  Paradiese  von  Paul  Heyse  20 

19  In  beiden  Hemispharen  von 

Sutro . 10 

20  Golebt  undgelitten  von  H.  Wa- 

cheubusen... .  20 

21  Die  Eichhofs  von  M.  von  Rei- 

chenbach . 10 

22  Kinder  der  Welt  von  P.  Heyse. 

Erste  Halfte .  20 

22  Kinder  der  Welt  von  P.  Heyse. 

Zweite  Halfte .  20 

23  Barfiissele  von  Berthold  Auer¬ 

bach  .  10 

24  Das  Nest  der  Zaunkonige  von 

G.  Freytag. . . 20 

25  Fiiihlingsboten  von  E.  Werner  10 

26  Zelle  No.  7  von  Pierre  Zacone  20 

27  Die  junge  Frau  v.  H.  Wachen- 

husen .  20 

28  Buchenheim  von  Th.  v.  Varn- 

btiler .  10 

29  Auf  der  Balm  des  Verbrochens 

v.  Ewald  A.  Konig .  20 

30  Brigitta  von  Berth.  Auerbach . .  10 

31  Im  Schilliugshof  v.  E.  Marlitt  20 

32  Gesprengte  Fesseln  v.  E.  Wer¬ 

ner.  . 10 

88  Der  Heiduck  von  Hans  Wa- 

cheu  husen .  20 

34  Die  Stui-mhexe  von  GrS,fin  M. 

Keyserling .  ...  10 

85  Das  Kind  Bajazzo’s  von  E.  A. 

Konig . ,20 

86  Die  Briider  vom  deutsclum 

Hause  von  Gustav  Freytag. .  20 

87  Der  Wilddieb  v.  F.  Gerstacker  10 
j8  Die  Verlobte  von  Rob.  Wald- 

miiller  ..  .  , ,  . .  20 


„Deiitschen  Library"  crscliienen : 

39  Der  DoppelgSnger  von  L. 

Schiicking . Ifl 

40  Die  weisse  Frau  von  Greifen- 

stein  von  E.  Fels . 20 

41  Hans  und  Grete  von  Fr.  Spiel- 

hagen . 10 

42  Mein  Onkel  Don  J  nan  von  H. 

Hopfen .  20 

43  Markus  Konig  v.  Gustav  Frey¬ 

tag .  20 

44  Die  schonen  Amerikauerinnen 

von  Fr.  Spielhageu .  10 

45  Das  grosse  Loos  v.  A.  Konig..  20 

46  Ziir  Eh  re  Gotte.s  von  Sacher 

und  Ultimo  v.  F.  Spielhageu  10 

47  Die  Geschwister  von  Gustav 


Freytag .  20 

48  Bischof  und  Konig  vou  Mariam 

Teuger  und  Der  Piratenko- 
nig  von  M.  Jokai .  10 

49  Reichsgrafin  Gisela  v.  Marlitt  20 

50  Bewegte  Zeiten  v.Leon  Alexan- 

drowitsch- . 10 

,51  Um  Ehre  und  Leben  von  E.  A. 

Konig .  20 

52  Aus  einer  kleinen  Stadt  v.  Gu¬ 

stav  Fi’eytag . . .  20 

53  Hildegard  von  Ernst  v.Waldow  10 

54  Dame  Orange  von  Hans  Wa- 

chenhusen . 20 

55  Johannisnacht  von  M.  Schmidt  10 

56  Angela  von  Fr.  Spielhageu...  20 

57  Falsche  Wege  von  J.  v.  Brun- 

Barnow .  10 

58  Versunkene  Welten  von  Wilh. 

Jensen . 20 

59  Die  Wohnungssucher  von  A. 

von  Winterfeld .  10 

60  Eine  Million  von  E.  A.  Konig  20 

61  Das  Skelet  von  F.  Spielliagen 

und  Das  Frdlenhaus  von  Gu¬ 
stav  zu  Putlitz .  10 

62  Soli  und  Haben  v.  G.  Freytag. 

Erste  Huifte. . 20 

62  Soli  und  Haben  v.  G.  Freytag. 

Zweite  Halfte .  20 

63  Schloss  Griiuwald  von  Char¬ 

lotte  Fielt . . .  10 

64  Zwei  Kreuzherren  von  Lucian 

Herbert . 20 

65  Die  Erlebnisse  einer  Schutzlo- 

sen  V.  Kath.  Sutro-Schiicking  10 

66  Das  Haideprinzesschen  von  E. 

Marlitt, .  20 

67  Die  Geyer-Wally  von  Wilh.  von 

Hi  Hern . .  10 

68  Ideal isten  von  A.  Reinow .  20 

09  Am  Altar  von  E.  Werner .  10 

'(‘O  Der  Konig  der  Luft  von  A.  v. 

Winterfeld . . .  20 

71  Mosehko  von  Parma  v.  Karl  E. 

Fr.aiizos.  . 18 


DIE  DEUTSCEE  LIBRARY, 


72  Schuld  und  Stthne  von  Ewald 

A.  Kdnig .  20 

73  In  Reih’  und  Glied  v.  F.  Spiel- 

hagen.  Erste  Halfte .  20 

73  In  Reih’  und  Glied  v.  F.  Spiel- 
hagen.  Zweite  Halfte .  20 


f4  Geheiranisse  einer  kleinen 
Stadt  von  A.  von  Winterfeld  10 
75  Das  Landhaus  am  Rhein  von 
B.  Auerbach.  Erste  Half te..  20 

75  Das  Landhaus  am  Rhein  von 

B.  Auerbach.  Zweite  Halfte  20 

76  Clara  Vere  von  Friedrich  Spiel- 


hagen .  10 

77  Die  Frau  Biirgermeisterin  von 

G.  Ebers .  20 

78  Aus  eigener  Kraft  von  Wilh. 

V.  Hillern .  20 

79  Ein  Kampf  urn’s  Recht  von  K. 

Franzos .  20 

80  Prinzessin  Schnee  von  Marie 

Widdern .  10 

81  Die  zweite  Frau  von  E.  Marlitt  20 

82  Benvenuto  von  Fauny  Lewald  10 

83  Pessimisten  von  F.  von  Stengel  20 

84  Die  Hofdame  der  Erzherzogin 


von  F.  von  Witzleben-Wen- 


delstein .  10 

85  Ein  Vierteljahrhundert  von  B. 

Young .  20 

86  Thiiringer  Erzahlungen  von  E, 

Marlitt .  10 

87  Der  Erbe  von  Mortella  von  A. 

Dom .  20 

88  Vom  armen  egyptischen  Mann 

V.  Hans  Wachenhusen .  10 

89  Der  goldene  Schatz  aus  dem 

dreissigjahrigen  Krieg  v,  E. 

A.  Konig .  20 

90  Das  Fraulein  von  St.  Ama- 

ranthe  von  R.  von  Gottschall  10 

91  Der  Fiirst  von  Montenegro  v. 

A.  Winterfeld .  20 

92  Um  ein  Herz  von  E.  Falk .  10 

93  Uarda  von  Georg  Ebers .  20 


94  In  der  zwolften  Stunde  von 

Fried.  Spielhagen  und  Ebbe 
und  Fluth  von  M.  Widdern...  10 
96  Die  von  Hohenstein  von  Fr. 

Spielhagen.  Erste  Halfte.  .  20 

95  Die  von  Hohenstein  von  Fr. 

Spielhagen.  Zweite  Halfte..  20 

96  Deutsch  und  Slavisch  v.  Lucian 


Herbert .  10 

97  Im  Hause  des  Commerzien- 

Raths  von  Marlitt .  20 

98  Helene  von  H.  Wachenhusen 

und  Die  Prinzessin  von  Por¬ 
tugal  V.  A.  Meissner .  10 

99  Aspasia  von  Robert  Hammer- 

ling .  20 

100  Ekkehard  v,  Victor  v.  Scheffel  20 

101  EinKampfumRom  V.  F.Dahn. 

Erste  Halfte .  20 

101  Ein  Kampf  um  Rom  v.F.Dahn. 

Zweite  Halfte .  20 

102  Spinoza  von  Berth.  Auerbach.  20 

103  Von  der  Erde  zurn  Mond  von 

J.  Verne .  10 


Der  Todesgruss  der  Legionen 

von  G.  Samarow .  20 

Reise  um  den  Mond  von  Julius 

Verne .  10 

Fiirst  und  Musiker  von  Max 

Ring .  20 

Nena  Sahib  v.  J.  Retcliffe.  Er- 

ster  Band .  20 

Nena  Sahib  von  J.  Retcliffe. 

Zweiter  Band .  20 

Nena  Sahib  von  J.  Retcliffe. 

DritterBand .  20 

Reise  nach  dem  Mittelpunkte 
der  Erde  von  Julius  Verne  10 
Die  silberne  Hochzeit  von  S. 

Kohn .  10 

Das  Spukehaus  von  A.  v.  Win- 

terfeld .  20 

Die  Erben  des  Wahnsinns  von 

T.  Marx .  10 

Der  Ulan  von  Joh.  van  Dewall  10 
Um  hohen  Preis  v.  E.  Werner  20 
SchwarzwSlder  Dorfgeschich- 
ten  von  B.  Auerbach.  Erste 

Halfte .  20 

Schwarzwalder  Dorfgeschich- 
ten  V.  B.  Auerbach.  Zweite 

Halfte .  20 

Reise  um  die  Erde  von  Julius 

Verne .  19 

Casars  Ende  von  S.  J.  R. 

(Schluss  von  104) .  20 

Auf  Capri  von  Carl  Detlef .  10 

Severa  von  E.  Hartner .  20 

Ein  Arzt  der  Seele  von  Wilh. 

V.  Hillern . 20 

Die  Livergnas  von  Hermann 

Willfried .  10 

Zwanzigtausend  Meilen  un¬ 
term  Meer  von  J.  Verne .  20 

Mutter  und  Sohn  von  August 

Godin .  10 

Das  Haus  des  Fabrikanten  v. 

Samarow .  20 

Bruderpflicht  und  Liebe  von 
Schiicking .  10 


Die  Romerfahrt  der  Epigonen 
V.  G.  Samarow.  Erste  Halfte  20 

Die  Romerfahrt  der  Epigonen 
V.  G.  Samarow.  ZweiteHalfte  20 
Porkeles  und  Porkelessa  von 


J  Scherr .  10 

Ein  Friedensstorer  von  Victor 
Bliithgen  und  Der  heimliche 

Gast  von  R.  Byr .  20 

Schone  Frauen  v.  R.  Edmund 

Hahn .  10 

Bakchen  und  Thyrsostrager 

von  A.  Niemann .  20 

Getrennt.  Roman  von  E.Polko  10 

Alte  Ketten.  Roman  von  L. 

Schiicking .  20 

Ueber  die  Wolken  v.  Wilhelm 

Jensen .  10 

Das  Gold  des  Orion  von  H. 

Rosenthal-Bonin . 10 

Um  den  Halbmond  von  Sama¬ 
row.  Erste  Hhlfte. .  30 


104 

105 

106 

107 

lo: 

107 

108 

109 

110 

111 

112 

113. 

114 

114 

115 

116 

117 

118 

119 

120 

121 

122 

123 

124 

125 

125 

126 

127 

128 

129 

130 

131 

132 

133 

134 


VIE  DEUTSCTIE  LIBRAJIY. 


134  Um  dei5iSaalbmond  von  Sama- 

row.  Zweite  Halfte .  20 

13J5  Troubadour  -  Novellen  von  P. 

Heyse .  10 

136  Der  Schweden-Schatz  von  H. 

Wachenhusen .  20 

137  Die  Bettlerin  vom  Pont  des 

Arts  und  Das  Bild  des  Kaisers 
von  Wilh.  Hauff .  10 

138  Modelle.  Hist.  Roman  von  A.  v. 

Winterfeld .  20 

139  Der  Krieg  um  die  Haube  von 

Stefanie  Keyser .  10 

140  Numa  Roumestan  v.  Alphonse 

Daudet .  20 


141  Spatsommer.  Novelle  von  O. 

von  Sydow  und  Engelid,  No¬ 
velle  V.  Balduin  Mdllhausen  10 

142  Bartolomaus  von  Brusehaver 

u.  Musma  Cussalin.  Novellen 
von  L.  Ziemssien .  10 

143  Ein  gemeuchelter  Dichter.  Ko- 

mischer  Roman  von  A.  von 
Winterfeld.  Erste  Halfte ....  20 

143  Ein  gemeuchelter  Dichter.  Ko- 

mischer  Roman  von  A.  von 
Winterfeld.  Zweite  Halfte . .  20 

144  Ein  Wort.  Neuer  Roman  von 


G.  Ebers .  20 

145  Novellen  von  Paul  Heyse .  10 

146  Adam  Homo  in  Versen  v.  Pa- 

ludan-Muller .  20 

147  Ihr  einziger  Bruder  von  W. 

Heimburg .  10 

148  Ophelia.  Roman  von  H.  von 

Lankenau .  20 

149  Nemesis  v.  Helene  v.  Hiilsen  10 

150  Felicitas.  Histor.  Roman  von 

F.  Dahn .  10 

151  Die  Claudier.  Roman  v.  Ernst 

Eckstein .  20 

.  152  Eine  Verlorene  von  Leopold 

Kompert .  10 

153  Luginsland.  Roman  von  Otto 

Roquette .  20 

154  Im  Banne  der  Musen  von  W. 

Heimburg . . . 10 

155  Die  Schwester  v.  L.  Schiicking  10 

156  Die  Colonie  von  Friedrich  Ger- 

stacker .  20 

157  Deutsche  Liebe.  Roman  v.  M. 

Muller .  10 

158  Die  Rose  von  Delhi  von  Fels 

Erste  Halfte .  20 

158  Die  Rose  von  Delhi  von  Fels. 

Zweite  Halfte .  20 

159  Debora.  Roman  von  W.  Muller  10 


160  Eine  Mutter  v.  Friedrich  Ger- 

stScker .  29 

161  Friedhofsblume  von  W.  von 

HiUem . .  10 

162  Nach  der  ersten  Liebe  von  K. 

Frenzel .  20 

163  Gebannt  u.  erlost  v.  E.  Werner  20 

164  Uhlenhans.  Roman  von  1  ried. 

Spielhagen .  20 

165  Klytia.  Histor.  Roman  von  G. 

Taylor .  20 

166  Mayo.  Erzahlung  v.  P.  Lindau  10 

167  Die  Herrin  von  Ibichstein  von 

F.  Henkel .  20 

168  Die  Saxoborussen  von  Sama- 

row.  Erste  Halfte .  20 

168  Die  Saxoborussen  von  Sama- 

row.  Zweite  Halfte .  20 

169  Serapis.  Histor.  Roman  v.  G. 

Ebers .  20 

170  Ein  Gottesurtheil.  Roman  von 

E.  Werner . .  10 

171  Die  Kreuzfahrer.  Roman  von 

Felix  Dahn .  20 

172  Der  Erbe  von  Weidenhof  von 

F.  Pelzeln . 20 

173  Die  Reise  nach  dem  Schicksal 

V.  Franzos .  10 

174  Villa  Schonow.  Roman  v.  W. 

Raabe .  10 

175  Das  Vermachtniss  v.  Eckstein. 

Erste  Halfte .  20 

175  Das  Vermachtniss  v.  Eckstein. 

Zweite  Halfte .  20 

176  Herr  und  Frau  Bewer  von  P. 

Lindau .  10 

177  Die  Nihilisten  von  Joh.  Scherr  10 


178  Die  Frau  mit  den  Karfunkel- 

steinen  von  E.  Marlitt .  20 

179  Jetta.  Von  George  Taylor _  20 

180  Die  Stieftochter.  Von  J.  Smith  20 

181  An  der  Heilquelle.  Von  Fried. 

Spielhagen .  20 

182  Was  der  Todtenkopf  erzShlt, 

von  Jokai .  20 

183  Der  Zigeunerbaron,  von  Jokai  10 

184  Himmlische  u.  irdische  Liebe, 

von  Paul  Heyse .  20 

185  Ehre,  Roman  v.  O.  Schubin...  20 

186  Violanta,  Roman  V.  E.  Eckstein  20 

187  Nemi,  Erzahlung  von  H.  Wa- 

cheuhusen .  10 

188  Strandgut,  von  Joh.  v.  Dewall. 

Erste  Halfte . 20 

188  Strandgut,  von  Joh.  v.  Dewall, 

Zweite  Halfte .  20 

189  Homo  sum,  Roman  von  Georg 

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IN  TWO  PARTS. 

Paet  l— the  philosophy  of  whist  play. 

Part  II.-THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  WHIST  PROBABILITIES 

By  WILLIAM  POLE, 

Mus.  Doc.  OxoN. 

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One  of  the  Examiners  in  the  University  of  London; 

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BLOOD  IS  THICKER  THAN  WATER: 


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OUR  SOUTHERN  BRETHREN. 

BY  HENRY  FIELD,  D.D., 

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King  Solomon’s  Mines.  By  H. 

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30 

31 


33 


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25 

25 

25 


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H.  Sutherland  Edwards .  25 

The  Mayor  of  Casterbridge.  By 

Thomas  Hardy .  25 

New  Arabian  Nights.  By  Rob¬ 
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Dark  Days.  By  Hugh  Conway.  25 

44  King  Arthur.  By  Miss  Mulock. .  25 

45  Living  or  Dead.  Hugh  Conway  25 

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47  Bound  by  a  Spell.  Hu^h  Conway  25 

48  -©eaton’s-Bargaiiif  By  Mrs.  Alex¬ 
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I  Have  Lived  and  Loved.  By 

Mrs.  Forrester .  25 

The  Secret  of  Her  Life.  By  Ed¬ 
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The  Haunted  Chamber.  By 
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52  Uncle  Max.  By  Rosa  Nouchette 

Carey .  25 

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57  The  Outsider.  Hawley  Smart. .  25 


41 

42 

43 


49 

50 

51 


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